


Dragons of the Darkwave Part 2

by ShadowcrestNightingale



Series: Darkwave Chronicles [2]
Category: Cowboy Bebop
Genre: Anemic romance, Betrayal, Crime Drama, Crimes & Criminals, F/M, Organized Crime, Psychotropic Drugs, Syndicate Era (Cowboy Bebop)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-22 19:06:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 35,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12488768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowcrestNightingale/pseuds/ShadowcrestNightingale
Summary: As a Red Dragon syndicate member, Spike's decision to while away his time shooting pool leads to an epic disaster. When the price for his folly proves too hard to stomach, Spike is forced to make a dire choice. Connecting the trail in the anime series, the events leading up to Spike's dramatic fall from grace-Vicious rivalry, Julia's affection, Mao's pledge. LV.





	1. Session 1

**Author's Note:**

> “Dragon's of the Darkwave Part 2”, like the first of the same name, will attempt to stay true to the dots strewn throughout the anime series while connecting them in a cohesive manner. Bits and pieces are shown of Spike and Vicious in their early Syndicate days. But they never really reveal the full truth. This visceral story is how I see it going down—the events in the year leading up to Spike's defecting from the Red Dragons, all the way to the final betrayal at the Tharsis graveyard … enjoy.

_ **Dragons of the Darkwave Part 2** _

 

**SESSION 1**

 

Vicious gazed toward the meeting chamber door, waiting impatiently for it open. The typical scowl pulled on his long facial features. Around him, the Red Dragon syndicate's _capo_ s and their hand selected senior subordinates chattered amiably like this was some kind of civil social hour. He tapped on Mao Yenrai's shoulder. His _capo_ held up a hand and finished his conversation with another's subordinate.

 

 _The nerve of this man._ Vicious stared a hole in the side of Mao's neck as he waited to gain his attention.

 

At long last, Mao turned his wrinkled pudgy face up to him and smiled warmly. “Yes, Vicious?”

 

“Someone is missing,” he remarked flatly.

 

Mao glanced around the room.

 

Vicious extended a hand palm up. “Where is Spike?”

 

“Oh! I wasn't expecting him anyway.” Mao waved a dismissive hand. “He's still working that assignment for the Van.”

 

Vicious bobbed his head, his long white hair concealed the flash of heat blooming on his face. “You mean the hit they summoned him to the top floor about … two weeks ago?”

 

“Why yes, that's the very one!” He replied pleasantly. “The Van have really taken to him lately. They're finally recognizing the same promise in him I did over a decade ago.”

 

Coldly, he remarked, “If they had asked me it would be finished by now.”

 

“Oh Vicious. When are you going to learn that good results are sometimes worth waiting for? I have every confidence that Spike knows what he is doing. Luck has been carrying him on an unprecedented streak. I can't ask anything more of my future successor.”

 

Vicious gripped the hilt of his katana, breaking it loose by a fraction from the sheath. _Future successor?Him? I knew the old man thought of Spike as his golden boy. But he seriously believes Spike has the ability to command? He's out of his damn mind._

 

Without another word, Mao turned and grasped a visiting executive's hand, chatting on about business as usual.

 

Spurned, Vicious drifted to the edge of the red and gold gilded chamber room analyzing each man from the Van's favored _capo_ to the disgraced senior subordinates trying to remain unnoticed against the wall. _Soft bellied cowards, the lot of them. To think this used to be the most feared syndicate in the system.. able to kill any target, anywhere. But with cautious fools like Mao remaining in command and placing immature charlatans on pedestals, the death knell is already keening._

 

No one even glanced his way as he slipped out the door. _Someone needs to make an example._

_* * *_

Spike laid the pool cue on his splayed left hand, nestling it in the crook between his thumb and forefinger. He drew the cue back and forth, shutting his left eye to stare dead down the shaft of wood at the white ball. Half a cigarette smoldered between his lips.

 

“Two to one odds he sinks it.” Shin lifted his pint of beer.

 

Lin, Shin's twin brother, choked his own pool cue on the other side of the table. “Damn, it's a risky called shot, but if anyone can do it … ”

 

Spike grinned and rammed the chalked end under the cue ball. It hopped straight over the striped and slammed into the solid orange, number five. The ball zipped across the table and hit the rear rail smack on the diamond, it snicked the green six in its path. Both balls rolled at different angles. The five raced for a center pocket. The six for the corner.

 

Shin held his breath and leaned forward, his eyes wide.

 

“Hah! The six is going in first.” Lin chalked his cue. “You never should have … awwwww SHIT!”

 

The five tipped into the pocket a second before the six.

 

Spike drew the cue in the air and aimed it at Lin's chest. “You were saying?”

 

“Dammit! Come on and give me a turn, big brother! I needed those woolongs.”

 

“Lin, we're not even remotely related.” He brushed a wrinkle out of the light blue t-shirt he was wearing and smirked. “And you shouldn't have laid a bet on the table against me. That was your idea, not mine. I just wanted the target practice.”

 

“For once Spike is right.” The intrusion of an icy voice shattered the mood. “Only a fool lays down a bet he cannot back up.”

 

Spike didn't look over his shoulder. The stiffening of his subordinate's shoulders told him he wasn't hearing things. “Hey, Vicious. Come to try your luck?” He studied the table idly.

 

“Not against a cheater. I am no one's fool. Least of all, yours.”

 

Shin took a step closer to his twin. “Spike doesn't cheat. He's just good.”

 

“Really.” Vicious stalked to the edge of the table and leveled his icy stare at Spike who met it without flinching. “Why don't you bet him to make the shot with his left eye instead of his right.”

 

Spike snorted. “If you think that's what's going on, you're dead wrong. I was a shark long before the accident.”

 

“The _accident_.” Vicious blinked slowly. “What a charming way to cover for a moment's lack of grace.”

 

Spike smirked. “Whatever. I don't remember a thing about it anyway. Just waking up with gauze over my eyes and some whack surgeon telling me not to be an idiot and try to get up til he said I could.”

 

“And that synthetic eye doesn't give you an edge?”

 

“No.” He shrugged, tucking his thumb into his back jean pocket. “If anything the damn thing is a pain in the ass. Never can get it to sync right. The colors come through off-filter. That's the only reason I close one eye when I aim. Now, would you mind stepping out of the way? I have a four ball lead and I'm about to win.”

 

“Spike.” Vicious resolutely remained where he was. “Aren't you supposed to be doing something?”

 

He half-closed his eyes. “Yeah, I'm getting' around to it.”

 

“When?”

 

“When I feel like it. Now step aside.” After a moment's pause under the cold gaze, Spike plucked the cigarette from his mouth and snapped, “I know where they damn-well are, Vicious. The timing hasn't been right. That's all. Trust me, the hit is as good as done.”

 

“Done? It would better if it was already done. When the Van gives you an order—”

 

Spike flicked the spent butt away. “What would you know, Vicious? You've never even seen the top floor.”

 

Shin and Lin swallowed loud enough to be heard.

 

“Careful, Spike. You know what happens with disappointments.”

 

Spike smirked and leaned closer. “No, I don't know personally. But I could go ask your previous subordinate … if I could find the body.”

 

Even in the stoic Vicious that struck a nerve. His lip curled for the briefest moment.

 

Spike caught the emotive betrayal and smiled. “You know, you've been rather pissy since they split us up and gave us teams of our own to run. What's the matter, old comrade, can't stand a little competition?”

 

“On the contrary.” Vicious resumed his flat tone. “I relish it.”

 

“More like crushing it.” Shin whispered to Lin.

 

Vicious shifted his gaze, stalling Lin's reply.

 

Spike cleared his throat and waited for Vicious to refocus his cold wrath on him. “I know you don't give a shit about authority and commands. So tell me, why are you r _eally_ here?”

 

There was no reply, save for the venomous stare.

 

Clear that he wasn't going to get this side of the table back, Spike sighed and shifted to the other edge, leaning down to eye the angles. The seven was embedded in a mess of stripes, the eight nowhere possible from this angle to get in a double. He'd have to take two shots. He could have gotten it in one from the other side. _Damn you, Vicious. Can't you relax for five fucking minutes in your life without pulling a trigger in the process?_ He leaned over the edge of the table and cocked the cue high to avoid scratching on another ball.

 

“Hey, you wanted to see me do this with my natural eye? Alright … what's your bet, Vicious?”

 

“You know I don't gamble.”

 

“Fine. I guess we'll just do this for entertainment. Seven ball, close corner pocket, to my right.”

 

Lin scoffed. “Without knocking one of the stripes? Are you actually giving me a chance to get my money back?”

 

“Nope.” Spike shut his right eye and struck the edge of the cue ball down the right side. The ball curved around the cluster and smacked the backside of the seven, severing it from the grouping. It shot straight through the empty corridor and tipped into the called pocket with just enough momentum. “The real eye, or the fake one. Makes no damned difference. I can still hit my target.”

 

“Then why don't you go hit one that matters, for once.”

 

“Why don't you go bother someone who cares.” Spike leaned over the table staring at the buried eight ball. All he had to do was sink it on the call and he'd win. It took him a moment to see the path. The diamond marking he needed on the rail was clear. Laying out flat he winked up at Lin with the cue in line. “Ready to lose?”

 

The cue clacked against the ball and sent it skidding toward the rail.

 

_**THWACK!** _

 

Vicious's katana cleaved the ball in two, sending the halves tumbling into the air. Lin caught one half as Vicious wrenched his blade free from the now sliced felt top table. He glared hard at Spike. “Oh dear. Looks like you scratched, Spike.”

 

Still in cued position, his knuckles flared white against the cue. His own glare edged up to lock eyes with Vicious. “I had a-hundred-thousand woolongs on that shot alone!”

 

“Then, let me remove your distraction.” Vicious plucked both the bet cards from the table and pocketed them. “Now, stop playing around and get to work.”

 

Spike huffed a breath and rolled his eyes. “Anyone ever tell you, you can be a real prick with that sword?”

 

Vicious stiffened, but coldly replied, “The last person who did choked on his own blood. Has anyone ever told you not to shoot point blank at a bullet proof vehicle?”

 

“Apparently I learned that lesson first hand.” He cocked his fingers like a gun and pulled the invisible trigger straight into his right eye. “Shit, that happened years ago! Get some new material to bitch about. You're just jealous.”

 

“Of you? Don't make me laugh.”

 

“That would be a first for you.” Spike discarded the pool cue onto the table with a loud clatter.

 

Lin grabbed for his cell phone and stared at it. “Spike. The tiger's in the cage.”

 

He plucked his trench coat from the back of a chair. The garment hung lopsided off his shoulder, the pockets clanking. He glanced at the twins. “You two can split, I got this. Thanks for the warm-up.” He roughly shoved past Vicious, bumping shoulders enough to jostle him back an awkward step. “You can go tell the council it's done.”

 

“I'm not your messenger, Spike.”

 

He waved without looking back. “No, but apparently you think you speak for the Van.” The bell on the door jingled as he swaggered through.

 

Stiff as a pillar, Vicious remained staring at the pool table until Spike's lackeys collected their coats and shuffled out. The moment after the bell jingled he pulled out his cell phone and typed a text message.

 

“ _The target is en route. Bury him.”_

 


	2. Session 2

**SESSION 2**

 

Spike leaned against a lamppost savoring the remainder of his cigarette in the dying daylight. He flipped the electronic bet cards between his fingers with a wry grin. _Nice try, Vicious. Next time, don't make it so damn easy, you smug prick!_ He considered giving Lin his woolongs back next time he saw him. Only a passing thought before sliding them both in his back pocket. Why do that? He'd been bound to win anyway.

 

One hand slipped into his trench coat pocket. He glanced up at the boarded up house. The porch roof listed to the side. One of the posts had already let go. Clearly he was doing this place a favor. He flicked the safety off the detonator.

 

Damn right, he'd been ready for this. A week ago he'd found their bolt hole. A rival syndicate, the White Tiger's thought they could hide below the radar on Red Dragon territory. Just a small bunch of lackeys trying to stir up trouble. Spike smirked, wondering how much their syndicate had offered them for this one way ticket. A cheap price for a life.

 

Anyone who thought he'd been slacking had been dead wrong. He'd had eyes on this joint after hiding a nice selection of C-4 in the walls when no one was home. Sure, he could have blasted the roof and watched them scatter. But then it was such a chore chasing them down all over Tharsis. Nah. Much simpler to wait for all the little kittens to run home at once. One trigger strike instead of twelve.

 

His finger hovered over the button. One week of waiting, hanging around the neighborhood so he would be close by at the perfect opportunity. Damn it. Two weeks total of nothing but sheer boredom.

 

He thought about the eight ball, the last bloody shot in the game he never had a chance to take thanks to Vicious. _Then why don't you go hit one that matters, for once._

 

Flipping the safety back on, he dropped it in his pocket. He plucked the cigarette from his mouth, discarding it into the street. He drew his Jericho 941 and checked the clip. Full. Vicious thought he was a coward, did he? Well, why not a little target practice just to prove a point? Time to hunt some little tigers.

 

He slid free of the lamppost and walked toward the door. Each click of his shoes echoed on the asphalt. Nothing shifted in the darkened windows. Heh, they'd have no idea. He reached for the doorknob with a sly smile.

 

A bright blue bolt shot up his left arm. He jerked backward, smoke rising from the blistered flesh. “What the—OOF!”

 

He never saw the board that smacked the back of his head. Spike's body crashed through the brittle front door, landing hard in the rubble. He shook his head, trying to clear away the flashing spots. Leveling his gun he swung into the darkness. Shadows moved around him. He rolled toward the partially enclosed staircase, gunfire wizzed by him. He squeezed off a few shots rewarded by an anguished cry.

 

That was short lived. One bullet pelted him in the left shoulder. He recoiled up the stairs a little further. They'd cornered him. Too late he realized they left that path intentionally as his only option. That had been their plan! Well, it wasn't over. He'd been in tight spaces before.

 

Crouching by the railing, he used half of the staircase to hide his back and fired into the darkened room on the other side. One by one he aimed at the muzzle flashes, twelve gunmen in scattered groups. Another stray bullet struck him, but all he had time to spare a thought for was nothing equated a lethal shot. If he could make this quick, he'd be alright. Six of the bastards pegged. About halfway done … then he could blow this joint. He smiled at the private joke.

 

A woman's wild laughter broke out above him. He whipped around, leading with the gun up the stairs. A short blade gleamed as it soared through the air and buried into his upper thigh, deep enough to strike the bone.

 

He wailed out and toppled backward, catching a dry rotted railing with his burnt hand. Halfway down the flight of stairs, he lay spread eagle on his back. A great wide target as bullets wizzed by raking the wood. He tried to pull himself up. Instinctively, he pried the stinging blade from his leg and lobbed it up the staircase.

 

It clattered against bare wood. Laughter echoed. Two amber iris's blazed crazily in the dark above him. Trying to cling low to the stairs, he attempted to flip around. A smear of blood slicked the step compromising everything. Only then did he remember that little detail about not pulling something out of a puncture. “Shit!”

 

“Foolish Dragon!” Definitely a woman's voice! Spike aimed the gun between her eyes, his finger slipped on the trigger and it didn't fire. “You fell right into the Tiger's trap! Come now, let's play!”

 

A bullet sent splinters flying as it ripped through a railing. Spike leaned to the right to avoid the debris. A lithe woman with raven hair launched hands first down the stairs. Her grip encircled Spike's upper left arm, already burning from the bullet wound. With the aid of gravity, she twisted her hands two different directions with a sadistic smile. The momentum toppled Spike backward accompanied by a sicking crack as his humerus fractured.

 

He didn't have long to consider that problem before he landed in a heap on the floor. For a moment he was blinded by the flashes of bright light. The gunfire ceased as she rolled onto her feet, licking her lips. “Ohhh, Topaz likes her play toy. He looks like fun. Get up. Take your medicine, laughing boy!”

 

His heart thundered in his chest. _Who is this bitch?_ Spike shifted with a grunt. His right hand stubbornly gripped the gun as he pushed upward, fighting to get his legs beneath him. The right one buckled, blood-soaked denim clung to the skin. The horizon swirled. The slick floor provided no good purchase. His left arm hung useless at his side. If he tried to fight hand-to-hand he'd likely topple over from the lack of balance. No one was here to back him up.

 

Dimly, Spike realized he'd screwed himself.

 

Well, if this was it, he wasn't going alone! He locked eyes with Topaz as she flashed a set of shining claws on her fingertips. She leaped into the air. Spike tried to squeeze off a shot, but the recoil threw him off balance. She collided with him, digging the razors into his sides.

 

“ARGH! Get off!”

 

Spike bucked under the assault. But she hung on like some horrific laughing tick. He eyed the open door and made a desperate scramble for it. Shoving his gun into the pocket he grabbed the detonator and flicked off the safety.

 

_Click!_

 

He dove out the door.

 

BAAAAWWWWWOOOM!

 

The blast tore her body from his back and launched her with the rubble. Spike failed to tuck. The blast wave pummeled him chest first through the remaining porch support. More than wood cracked in the process. Skidding on his belly to a stop, Spike gasped in air against the sharp pain in his chest. He struggled to get a lung full.

 

Yellow flames flickered in the alley. A cracking groan rent the air. He looked up in time to see the porch roof careening toward him. Covering his head with the one hand he could move, he braced himself for the impact. Boards clattered and struck in a pelting rain around him. More splinters of wood.

 

Then … silence.

 

Slowly, he dared to move. Dragging himself up from the rubble. He coughed and fell into the support of the lamppost, gripping it tight with his right hand. Bone ground against bone. Adrenalin only dulled the edge of the pain. But he knew by experience it wouldn't be long before gravity won.

 

The horizon violently shifted as he dragged his injured leg down the street in a jarring gait. He gripped his rib cage with his right hand and tried to hold it together. He knew the vague direction from here. Not far. Not far at all. A block, maybe two.

 

… _Mao Yenrai handed Spike a cup of sake with a fond smile out on his mansion deck. “Confidence you have plenty of. More than enough to lead one day. But don't get too cocky. That's the number one killer in the syndicate.” …_

 

How many steps he had managed to take he failed to count. His inhale resulted in stabbing pain forcing him to exhale. The world dashed out from under him. He fell forward as a shaft of light broke the darkness. A door opening into the street. At least he hoped that's what it was as his eyes shut against the flood of agony.

 

_Crap, there went my lucky streak._

 

“Spike!” A voice sounded infinitely far away.

* * *

A soft humming gradually infiltrated the silence. Spike drifted toward it, fighting for consciousness in the swirling void. Every burning breath fell short of a full one. Pressure restricted his ability. He blinked open his eyes, wincing in the light.

 

Julia's worried face swam into view. A cascade of blond curls scented like a rose competed with the odor of dried blood clinging inside his nostrils. Julia … so he had made it that far. This was her apartment, he'd only been here once when Vicious picked her up for a date.

 

_They'd all blown the afternoon on something … oh yeah, pool. Vicious had been a sore loser. Julia's eyes had tried to follow Spike's hands as he idly played with one of the pocketed balls during Vicious's single shots. The guy had taken forever to set it up, only to miss. The ball appeared and disappeared as Spike rolled it with ease. He had watched her amusement out of the corner of his eye. But she was off limits, and he knew it._

 

No fantasy was strong enough to banish his reality. Pain. Of everything, his left arm and chest hurt the most. He couldn't tell which was worse. His inhale resulted in a coughing fit. His chest! Oh, definitely the chest was the worst. His eyes shut so tight tears escaped.

 

“Easy, Spike.” Her voice pulled at him. Something to latch onto to keep from slipping away. “Don't even try to talk. You're stable, at least I was able to stop the bleeding. You've been shot. I can't dig those out. We need to get you to a doctor.”

 

All he could do was lie there trying not to shift wrong. Fighting with himself not to consider how bloody stupid he'd been.

 

A key rattled in the lock. The door swung open. Vicious froze as he spied the blood smeared on the floor. He swept his gaze up to find Julia kneeling beside Spike's bandaged body. Spike wheezed in a breath and winced before coughing feebly.

 

 _He was still alive?_ Vicious asked dryly, “What happened?”

 

“I don't know.” She gestured out the door. “I heard a ruckus and went outside to check. I opened the door in time to see him fall in the street. He's hurt badly, Vicious. He needs help.”

 

He nodded stiffly and pulled out his phone. _He needs a coffin and a headstone._ Turning his back, he dialed a number and waited for an answer. “I'll be sending you an address for a pickup … you know who … yes … alive … for now.” He hung up and entered Julia's address.

 

“What are you doing?” She climbed to her feet.

 

Without emotion, Vicious turned back and stared at Spike's prone body. “Spike is the syndicate's property. They'll want him back no matter how many pieces he's in.”

 

Spike coughed and moaned.

 

Julia clasped his right hand, his left wrapped hastily in bandages. “You're not moving him. He needs a doctor brought here.”

 

Vicious stood gazing out the window. “The syndicate will make sure he'll get what he needs.” He glanced down at his phone. Mao's worried reply dashed across the screen. Word traveled fast. That man wanted Spike brought to his mansion. Vicious sighed. A syndicate surgeon was already on his way.

 

“Hold on, Spike.” Julia's voice accompanied Spike's pitiful rasp.

 

A slight smile curved Vicious's lips unseen as he gazed out the window. Maybe this result was better than instant death after all.

* * *

The surgeon wiped his hands on a towel and looked up at the short man hovering in the doorway of the mansion's guest room. Mao Yenrai fingered the edges of his jacket, his eyes flicked to Spike's body as the blanket was pulled over the bandages.

 

“He'll live. But he's out of commission for a while. I dug out four bullets. Nothing but stitches holding that thigh together. His ribs are back in alignment, same with that compound fracture in his arm. I don't even want to know what suicide mission you sent him on. He'll need rest and a lot of these.” He tossed Mao a bottle of pills. “He's damn lucky I had his blood type. O is hard to find these days with how much bleeding is going on and no time to type. At least I know this boy by sight, even bashed to kingdom come.”

 

Mao edged into the room. “Is he awake?”

 

The surgeon nodded grimly. “As much as he's going to be for a bit. Not much talking for now. Those cracked ribs won't take kindly to that. Now, this is the third late night patch job this week. I'd like to get home and stay there.”

 

“Of course.” Mao gestured to a servant who accompanied the blurry eyed surgeon out the door. Slowly, Mao approached the bedside.

 

A dull light filled Spike's half open eyes. Each breath was an audible rasp as his chest rose and fell in a shuddering struggle. His left arm was encased in a firm splint and secured in a sling. Smaller patches of bandages concealed scratches on his face. He coughed and winced.

 

“Just rest.” Mao placed a hand beside him, not daring to touch him. “You did your job, just like I knew you would.”

 

“Are you sure?” Vicious shadowed the door. “Perhaps someone should go and check.”

 

Mao didn't turn. He just gently folded the edge of the blanket.

 

When the silence stretched on too long, Vicious turned and let his katana hilt strike the door frame. Both Mao and Spike tensed. But only Spike made a noise, a pitiful rattle as he winced.

 

“I'll be back.” Vicious declared. “Someone has to clean up Spike's mess.”

 

 


	3. Session 3

**SESSION 3**

 

An untold number of days later, Shin leaned over the bed. He glanced back at Lin before turning back to Spike.

 

In the bed, Spike cracked his eyes open. “Yeah. I'm alive. You two can stop gawking now.”

 

Shin heaved a relieved sigh. “Thought maybe you were in a coma or something.”

 

“Wish I was. Be nice to just wake up healed instead of lying here waiting for bones to knit.” He flexed the fingers of his left hand. Skin cracked on the drained blisters from the electrical burn. Why hadn't he suspected a booby trap? Spike half lidded his eyes and grumbled, “Just tell me that damn house is leveled. No one will tell me a thing.”

 

Lin cracked a grin. “Oh, there's nothing left to that place. Twelve bodies burnt to cinders. You nailed them all.”

 

Through the drugged haze of the painkiller, he puzzled that out. _Twelve. Why doesn't that sound right?_

 

“Spike? Did you hear me?”

 

He blinked, focusing on Shin. “Mmmm?”

 

“What are our orders?”

 

Spike made the mistake of shrugging his left shoulder. He hissed waiting for the spasm to pass.

 

“Why did you ask him that, brother?” Lin backhanded his twin lightly on the shoulder. “Our boss is a mummy. Not likely anything for us to do other than haunt the usual places.”

 

“I don't care what you do.” Spike sighed. “Not like I'll be causing any trouble anytime soon. Say, I'd kill for a smoke. Where did Mao put my coat?”

 

Shin disappeared from view for a moment. He reappeared with a bloodstained shredded _something_ that resembled a coat.

 

Spike's eyes widened at the holes. “Shit. Don't tell me my lighter fell out of the pocket?”

 

The brothers dug into the folds, their fingers poking through in various places. His gun appeared, a crushed pack of cigarettes, and the detonator smashed in pieces.

 

He shut his eyes. “Well, I know one thing you can do for me … ”

 

Shin pulled out the metal lighter with a wide grin and flicked it. A timid flame bloomed.

 

One eye opened at the sound. “Greaaat. Now how about something worth lighting?”

 

“Do you care … ”

 

“Whatever. Has it ever mattered to me? Just find something and get back here quick.” He closed his eyes to them remarking about their crazy task. It brought a crooked smile to his face. Loyal to the core, they would have followed him into that cursed house if he hadn't been a lunkhead and dismissed them.

 

The shuffle of feet sometime later derailed his aimlessly wandering train of thought. He opened his eyes to find a familiar face trying to hide her worry behind a smile. “Hello Annie.”

 

“Good to see you awake, Spike.” She glanced at the photo on the bedstand, the three of them. Mao with his hands resting on their shoulders. A younger Spike grinned out of the photo, his eyes still the same colors. “You've been sleeping so dang much, I kept missing you.”

 

“Well, here I am.” He flipped his right hand. At least that didn't hurt. “Kinda hard to miss. Ya know, the big old windbag wheezing beneath the covers.”

 

“It's not funny.” She tried to force a scowl on her face. “Why you gotta do stuff like this?”

 

“Cause it's my job.”

 

“To get nearly killed? Spike, you don't need to prove anything. There are plenty in the syndicate that will already follow you without the showboating antics.”

 

He laughed as much as he dared, wincing slightly as his ribs jostled. “Damn, I just didn't do a good enough job. One of these days I'll nail that whole _blaze of a glory_ thing. Maybe it takes more C-4 for a nice grand finale?”

 

She smirked ,but the face he made earned him a laugh from her.

 

“Hey Annie, remember I promised you after that guy stiffed you I was going to treat you to a real dinner at a fancy restaurant when I had time?” He grinned. “Well, looks like I'm free now.”

 

“I don't think you could walk into a front door at the moment if you tried, Spike. How about you finish healing first.”

 

He carefully shrugged his right shoulder. “Your call. In the meantime, I have to admit, I'd forgotten how much nicer Mao's place is than my crappy apartment. Swear this room alone is bigger than my whole place.”

 

She swallowed. “He called it his _investment of blood_ for a reason, Spike.”

 

His eyebrow raised. “Heh. Well if that's how it's done, I'm several quarts into my palace by now.”

 

Her hand covered her mouth as she failed to suppress a giggle. “Damn it, Spike. Stop being so reckless like this. I don't want to attend your funeral.”

 

“You won't.” He winked. “Syndicate members don't get funerals. We just disappear.”

 

“Hey, you get some rest. I wanna see you swinging by my store real soon swiping my cigarettes.”

 

“Oh? What cigarettes would those be?”

 

“The ones I overlook because you hanging around keeps the goons away. I hate having to bring my guns out.”

 

Spike snickered.

 

“You know what I meant!” She glowered at him. “Damn it, I can't even hit you right now and you know it, asshole!”

 

“See yah around, cousin.”

 

She held a hushing finger to her lips and backed out of the room.

 

Time ticked by slowly. Over a series of days Spike gradually managed to sit up in bed if he was careful. Shallow cuts and bruises left behind little evidence. But the deeper wounds proved to be as stubborn as Spike himself. The stitches came out of his leg, but the deep severed muscle was reluctant to bear weight without screaming in protest. His ribs were set enough that he could move without risk of refracturing, but that didn't mean it was with any degree of comfort. The arm was another matter. The once twisted bone was far thicker than a rib, and the surgeon warned him the splint would be essential for longer than he wished. Of course, he glared at Spike when he said it. A glare Spike had witnessed far too many times from the same surgeon. At least the man was good at what he did. Spike, by some miracle, didn't have many visible scars.

 

With extreme care, he'd been able to hobble around the room a bit the last few days. As he opened his eyes to the afternoon light he heard Annie and Mao's hushed voices in the other room. He smiled. _They are trying not to wake me up. Sweet._

 

“Someone has to do something.” Annie pleaded. “How many is it now?”

 

“I've lost count. I know, I know this is getting serious.”

 

“Mao, they'll blame you for not controlling him. He's your subordinate. What if they think you're ordering this?”

 

Spike edged up on his right elbow. _What's this?_

 

“The Van know I don't condone these tactics, Anastasia. I've proven myself. I'm in no direct danger.”

 

Spike climbed out of bed and limped across the floor careful not to jostle the arm still confined to a sling. He leaned against the door frame just as Mao murmured, “But this puts the entire syndicate at risk.” Mao glanced fretfully up at Spike.

 

“What's going on?”

 

Mao didn't get a chance to answer him. His phone rang. His eyes widened. He answered it firmly. “Yes …Yes … I understand … When? Ok.” Grimly, he hung up and cast a worried gaze at Spike. “The Van want to meet with you. In an hour.”

 

Spike swallowed hard. The jovial Mao never showed fear. _Why now?_

 

Annie leapt up, “No, Mao! He can't go yet. Look at him! He's hardly on his feet.”

 

He shook his head. “It can't be helped. They must be obeyed. Come on, Spike. The least I can do is go with you.”

 

Wordlessly, Spike hobbled past Annie's desperate gaze. He refused Mao's shoulder as they made their way to the shuttle. The color on his superior's face didn't return the entire ride up into the orbit. The Red Dragon's ship dwarfed their little craft as they pulled into the docking bay.

 

Even walking down the hall, Spike's typical jesting banter was locked behind a curtain of silence. It wasn't the pain anymore that stilled his tongue. It was Mao's barely masked terror.

 

They waited to be admitted to the head council chamber. For once Spike had a legit excuse as he leaned against the wall. His leg protested sharply. The door slid opened. They looked pensively into the chamber. Mao nodded and walked in ahead of Spike. Swallowing hard, he limped in behind his mentor, keeping his eyes on the floor.

 

The last thing Spike wanted to do was gaze into the eyes of the Van. Three wrinkled Oriental men sat on cushions. They were dressed in Ming Dynasty ceremonial robes. Every official order of the Red Dragon syndicate crossed at least one of their lips. Even as they spoke one at a time, they were as if one entity. One immensely powerful entity. He knew their names, but wouldn't presume to guess which was which Long.

 

Still bandaged, Spike felt their heated glare bore down on him from the raised platform.

 

“Spike Spiegel. You stand here having failed to do as we ordered.”

 

Mao snapped his head up. “You ordered him to take out the White Tigers trespassing in our territory. He accomplished that. I saw the house myself. It was demolished to the foundation.”

 

The Van turned their eyes on Mao, trading off phrase by phrase to form one decree. “Mao Yenrai, you are banned from speaking for your senior subordinate. You have been witnessed suggesting that Spiegel is your intended successor. If that is to be so, it is time that he must prove his worth.”

 

Spike tried to hide the cringe from their iron voices. A far cry from the pleasant reception he'd had last time. A long silence filled the room. He glanced up to find their glares locked back on him. Immediately he looked at his shoes. Now was hardly the time for bravado if he wanted to see the surface of Mars again. Heck, if he wanted to see tomorrow!

 

“You were ordered as Yenrai stated. And your slothfulness resulted in your disgrace.”

 

Spike hung his head wondering how soon he would be staring down the barrel of a firing squad. Didn't they have a room somewhere on this ship for such occasions?

 

“You stand before us, Spike Spiegel, crippled by the wounds of your bad decision. Had this been all, it could be forgiven. But there have been repercussions. You are fortunate enough that your previous performances make up for this pitiful disaster. Have you anything to say for yourself?”

 

He glanced sideways at Mao. Dread trembled in the man's eyes. Spike swallowed and shook his head, choosing to remain silent.

 

“A wise decision. There is hope for you yet.”

 

He dared to glance up. One of the Van flashed a grin down on him. _What the hell are they playing at?_

 

“In the wake of this disaster your equal, Vicious, has lashed out. Against our repeated orders his actions drag us to the brink of war with the other syndicates. We are uncertain of his motives, but they do not matter. If for your honor, or simply his volatile nature seeking a target, he must be stopped at any cost.”

 

“What?” Spike kept his eyes locked on the triad now. The fingers of his left hand flexed into a soft fist. “What does this have to do with me?”

 

They each held up a hand with three fingers raised. “You have three days to locate Vicious and convince him to return to his compliance with our orders.”

 

Spike blanched, his right leg nearly buckled. “Three days? But I can't … ”

 

Mao dropped to his knees and folded his hands. “How can you expect him to accomplish that? He can hardly walk.”

 

They scowled at Mao, dashing him into a shamed silence. “If you had trained that _snake_ better when you brought him into the syndicate this would not have happened.” They turned to Spike and firmly continued, “Do what you should have done with your last assignment. Utilize your subordinates.”

 

Spike didn't hide his shameful cringe from them this time.

 

“If they had been with you, you would not be half dead.”

 

_Shit shit shit. I'm never going live this stunt down._

 

“We are not finished.” The finality of their tone turned Spike's blood to ice. “From this point forward _you_ will be held responsible for Vicious's actions. If they do not comply with our desires, both your syndicate memberships will be terminated.”

 

Mao sucked in a breath.

 

Spike had stopped breathing altogether. He knew  **exactly** what that meant. 

 

“Are we understood, Spike Spiegel?”

 

He tried to nod, but it came across as a twitch.

 

“Understood?” Their voices rose in unison, they leaned forward.

 

Spike nodded vigorously, his mind blank on how to even begin to rein in Vicious.

 

“Good. The yoke of power is heavy, Spike Spiegel. If you are to lead in the future, you must prove you can make someone your equal follow. It is time you earned the gifts we have previously granted you.”

 

His hand drifted up subconsciously and brushed against his right eye.

 

All three of the Van nodded once at his gesture. “Do not let our decision in restoring your full vision be in vain. You have three days to locate Vicious. Dismissed.”

 

In an ungraceful attempt, Spike tried to mirror Mao's bow before they both turned and he limped out of the chamber looking paler than before the blood transfusion.

 

In the shuttle back to Mars, Mao shuffled his fingers. “We'll figure something out.”

 

Spike shook his head, staring down at the contours of the city growing before them. Where the hell was Vicious hiding? “You heard them, Mao. If they find out you're helping me … well, I don't want to test that. They hear e _verything_ . You know that better than I do. No, I'm on my own now.”

 

“Stay the night.” He looked out the window too. “I insist on it. The Van were right. I should have dealt with him earlier. But when you were partners … I thought … it seemed … ”

 

Spike closed his eyes and remembered the once friendly bickering … if only it had remained friendly. “I know, he seemed to behave … rationally.”

 

“You're the only one who managed to influence him, Spike.”

 

He sighed. “If only I could remember how.” All he could think of right now was how screwed he was with his fate tethered to that bloodthirsty viper. Three days to work a miracle or … die trying.

 

By the time the shuttle landed at Mao's mansion, Spike stared blindly as Mao took his weight on his shoulder. They passed by Annie, who covered her mouth at the sight of the haunted men. Mao helped Spike into the guest room to the side of the bed. The moment he let go, Spike collapsed onto the mattress. His eyes shut tight against the world.

 

Mao tugged the blanket up over him and patted his right shoulder. “Be careful, Spike. I fear that they have demanded something that no one can deliver.”

 

Annie edged closer, her eyes creased with worry. “They didn't … ”

 

He nodded his head in sorrow. “I never should have pledged for Vicious. This is all my fault … and now it's out of my hands.”

 


	4. Session 4

**SESSION 4**

 

Shafts of sunlight walked up the far wall of Spike's apartment. He lay on his back watching the evidence of the setting sun from his bed. Lifting his phone he flicked the screen on hoping that perhaps he had missed something. Nope. Grimly, he clicked it off and tossed it carelessly on the nightstand.

 

_Shit. One day gone without a trace. Lin and Shin, I really need you guys to save my ass right now!_

 

His eyes wandered around the sparse room, or at least what he could see from here. This place wasn't much. But it didn't really have to be. As much as he'd joked with Annie about wanting a place like Mao's … well, there was little point. He rarely had enough down time to enjoy what he had. What would be the point … other than flaunting? This shabby little den in the squat building was all he needed. A place he stashed his gear in between jobs and a relatively safe place to shut his eyes for as long as the syndicate let him. Dull was not a word he would use to describe his life.

 

Sure, his take from the services he provided was lucrative. The problem was the expenses. He went through a surprising amount of ammunition. The black market dealers were getting greedy with the cost of explosives. Hell, anything that made his tasks easier was on the rise lately, that included fuel for his _Swordfish_ II. It had been sometime since he could afford the luxury of a joyride. Rubbing his splinted arm he grumbled wordlessly. Well, he wouldn't be flying her like this anyway. It took two functioning hands to fly her.

 

He rolled onto his right side and reached under the pillow. His fingers coiled around the Jericho's grip. One never knew. Especially with Vicious stirring up the other syndicates. If they found his apartment, he wanted to at least take a few with him on his way out of this world.

 

… _death, it happens to everyone. The only thing we can't really escape …_

 

He shut his eyes on the present. The fingers of his dreams pulled him into the past …

* * *

Somehow the building remained standing. A burnt out shell with a big hole in the wall on the second story where his parent's room used to be. The fire was out, only plumes of thready smoke rose into the air. Police tape fluttered in the wind, but no one was around.

 

Spike ducked below it and shimmied his small body through the crumbled stairwell up to the dwelling he had left that morning. There hadn't been much color in the place to begin with, least not that he'd remembered. But now everything was all black and gray … with two jagged chalk outlines in the middle of the scorched floor. Numbly, he hovered over the mess before gazing out over the empty neighborhood streets. The sun was setting soon, and it would get cold without a wall.

 

He slipped down the rubble pile with hardly a backward glance, kicking a can as he passed by two more buildings scarred in a similar fashion. He'd witnessed those ones in the past week alone.

 

Alone. The word echoed in his mind as he wound his way through the trash clogged streets and up to a glass fronted door. He had to reach up for the handle. Slipping in, he walked virtually unnoticed through the crowd of boisterous men to the sound of clacking pool balls. Climbing up onto a stool at the bar, he folded his arms and rested his chin on them.

 

Several minutes passed before a man jabbed a thumb in his direction. “Hey, who's the kid?”

 

Behind the bar, a bald headed man narrowed his eyes and walked over to him. “Well, if it is isn't Spike Spiegel. Your father know you're out past your curfew?”

 

Spike shrugged, fixated on the wooden bar. “Don't think he knows much of anything anymore, Uncle Joe.”

 

Joe paused for long moment, studying the telltale ashes on Spike's fingers. He reached under the counter, poured a bit of whiskey into a glass and added a good amount of water. Pushing the glass in front of him, he ruffled Spike's hair. “Drink up, kiddo. You need this.”

 

It wasn't the first time in Spike's six years of life that he'd had liquor. But it was the first time he woke up with a hangover in the morning. Uncle Joe had carried him to a couch in the back corner … and Spike never really left. There was nowhere else to go.

 

Lingering in the pool hall, the young boy spent his days idly watching the gamblers play cards and rack the billiard balls. Once the place closed each night, while Uncle Joe cleaned up, Spike stood on a chair and bounced the balls off the rails watching the patterns. Thus, his education began. Geometry and physics played out on the felt of the pool table. Counting cards became his math. He learned to read the bottles of liquor as he fetched things for Uncle Joe. And more than just bottles … in time he was using his slender fingers to dip into the pockets of the patrons for Uncle Joe. No one suspected the charming boy with the soft brown eyes shuffling through the hall. Of course, it took Spike an inordinate time to realize that the man his father had called 'Uncle' Joe was simply the owner of Uncle Joe's Pool Hall.

 

Spike might have realized that sooner had he been taught like other kids, learning to read from Earth books like Dick and Jane. For him Dick and Jayne were two neighborhood bullies who beat the snot out of him whenever he failed to outrun them … which was often enough since they were teenagers. The only thing they taught him was how take a punch. A valuable lesson he could not return in kind, until one night Spike prized a bit of illicit drugs off a bar patron. The next day his tormentors met with an unpleasant surprise when Spike ran them into a plainclothes cop he'd recognized from the bar.  _See Dick and Jayne run. See Dick and Jayne collide with the angry man. See the man find the drugs in Dick's pocket. Run, Dick, run! See Dick and Jayne get hauled off to jail._ Spike swaggered back to the pool hall and picked up the cue for a bit of practice.

 

He showed a knack for the games. And Joe's eyes glistened as he hovered over his shoulder teaching him the tricks and tips of the game in the after hours. Spike soaked it all in. Every underhanded tactic in the book, and many never written down. A fast hand often defeated an opponent. And fast foot, in some cases. Spike's favorite gimmick was mastering slipping a metal lever-shim under the leg of a pool table to quite literally  _tip the odds_ in his favor. Which was precisely how the eight-year-old made Uncle Joe a fortune off bet money the first night he let Spike run the table in a real stakes game. 

 

Soon enough, night after night, the boy with the lazy grin worked the game circuit like a miniature pro. Everyone underestimated the skinny lad the first time. Some a second time, claiming the boy was simply lucky. Luck had nothing to do with it. If he didn't fall into the odds automatically, Uncle Joe had taught him how to flip them on the fly.

 

By the time Spike was eleven he no longer bothered to shim the table. He was as savage a pool shark as the hardened patrons. With a cigarette hanging from his mouth, his pool cue ruled the table like elaborate clockwork. Poker was fun, especially reading the tells and rigging the deck … but he cherished the feeling of staring down the wooden shaft of the cue at the target. There was something primal about the nature of the game.

 

A few days after his twelfth birthday, Spike leaned against the bar idly watching for a good mark. A group of fancy suited men gathered around a table. The red pinstripes on their jackets caught his eye. They had money. Money that wasn't often seen in the second hand suits he frequently scrapped with. Tugging on his open vest, he wandered over and leaned against the table, running a hand through his natural dark green hair.

 

A bright eyed man with a pudgey face looked his way.

 

_Bingo!_ Spike flashed his charming grin. “You know how to play?” Purposefully he fumbled on a grab for the cue, letting a false blush rise in his cheeks. “Heh heh. Oops.”

 

The man cocked his head and held up a card. “I'm sorry, boy. We're here to play for actual money.”

 

“Oh, I got some money.”

 

A burly man beside him scoffed at Spike's threadbare attire. “Not small change. This is serious bets only.”

 

Spike rolled up his shirt sleeves and leaned on the table. “How serious you talkin'?”

 

The bets went down and the balls started rolling. The pudgy man lost his first turn. And Spike never let him get a second. He snapped every striped ball in numerical order into a called pocket, even though that wasn't the precise game they were playing. As he maneuvered around the table working the balls, he also pinched every pocket in the group without anyone turning their heads. By the time he was lining up his eight ball shot, the table's pockets weren't the only ones he had loaded.

 

All eyes in the hall were on his final shot. He always saved the best for last. At one end of the table he drew the cue back in as long a line as possible. “Eight ball. Near corner pocket to my left.”

 

One of the men smirked at the line of solid balls blocking the way. There wasn't a straight line anywhere in sight. Well, for the average shooter, maybe. “Yeah right, he'll scratch!”

 

“No I won't.” Spike slammed the cue into the bottom of the white ball with a force so hard the clack silenced all the chatter in the hall. Instead of traveling forward, the ball launched into the air and flew over the line of solid balls. It dropped down hard on the near side of the eight ball which sat a fraction from the rail. The black ball ricocheted into flight back toward him in a mirrored path to the cue ball. Spike backed up and held the cue in front of him, the tip following as the eight ball dropped dead straight into the pocket.

 

The crowd of strange men dropped their jaws. Spike tossed his cue into the center of the table and took the bet card loaded with woolongs from the edge of the table. In a flick of his wrist, the card vanished, joining the rest of his loot. “Thanks for the practice.” He waltzed back to the bar, reached over and helped himself to a mug of beer. Over his shoulder the usual post-game animated conversation took place.

 

The pudgy man came up to the bar and waved to Joe, he pointed at Spike. “How old is he?”

 

“Who? Spike? Just turned twelve last week.”

 

“Twelve?” He tried to hide a glance. Spike caught it and waved lazily. The strange man looked around the hall. “Could you tell me who his parents are?”

 

“Take it you wanna talk to them. They _were_ good friends of mine.” He wiped a glass and set it aside. “Good luck. Their ashes blew away on the wind about six years back. Spike's been hanging here ever since.”

 

The man's glittering eyes turned to study Spike as the boy rubbed foam of his lip with the back of his hand. “Is there a place that we can talk in private, Sir?”

 

Uncle Joe held up a hand, “Be right back, kiddo. You got the taps.”

 

Spike held up a thumb and vaulted over to the backside, topping off his mug with a grin. Behind the counter, he casually unloaded his pockets from the earlier grab. Close to an hour later Uncle Joe waved to him.

 

Spike sauntered over and leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets. “What's up?”

 

“I'd like you to met Mao Yenrai.”

 

The strange man held out a hand. “Have you ever been to Tharsis, Spike?”

 

Spike blinked half-hooded eyes at the hand, the glint of a gold watch lured his slippery fingers into the grip. A moment later, that glitter was gone, safely concealed in his pocket. “Naw. What's that?”

 

Less than two hours later Spike stared in awe as the private shuttle rose through the vapor curtain surrounding the city crater. Barren red desert stretched out, the landscape dotted with gems of cratered cities. He'd never had a clue there was a world beyond the crater walls. From down on the ground there was no horizon, only a red rock wall.

 

Soaring to the new horizon, many terraformed craters away, Mao watched as Spike clung to the window, his deep brown eyes never ceased to move. As the shuttle dropped down over Tharsis, he pointed at the tallest building. “You see that? That is where I work.”

 

Spike had to lean back to see the top of it.

 

“You stick with me, and one day I will take you to the top floor with me. Deal?”

 

He was too awestruck to answer …

 

Mao's sprawling mansion was a haven on a lake shore. Trees dotted the banks of the sparkling water. He'd never seen anything like this back home in the slums. The biggest body of water he'd glimpsed was a mud puddle he'd been unfortunate to have his face rammed into. But he had little time to settle in and explore his new home. On the second day, Spike was introduced to Leonard in a room with a padded floor. Leonard smiled and bowed to him. A second later, Spike gawked in shock as the man rushed him. Cartwheeling backward, he stumbled out of the way in time. But it didn't stop there. Leonard advanced in a wild series of attacks pursuing Spike all over the mat. By the time they were finished, a red-faced Spike leaned against the wall gripping his chest, panting.

 

Leonard bowed before Mao. “He's raw, but that little bastard is tough. He can take a punch like someone taught him how. His attacks hold little strategy, but that spirit doesn't give up, no matter how hopeless I made it. You have a good eye, Mao. With no family ties, this kid is perfect.”

 

Mao grinned when Spike looked up through his sweaty hair. “I want you train him.”

 

“In what?” Leonard asked firmly.

 

“Anything he will learn.”

 

Leonard nodded and bent down in front of Spike. “Let's have a talk about a technique called Jeet Kune Do, I think that will suit you nicely.” …

 

Spike soon discovered he wasn't the only kid. A young girl, close to his age, maybe a touch older, appeared in the house one morning. Mao called her Annie. From time to time she visited the mansion for days or weeks at a time. It seemed without any rhyme or reason. But then again he couldn't be certain. Spike had spent most of his days holed up in the training room with Leonard breaking down videos of Bruce Lee.

 

When they crossed paths occasionally, Spike tossed her a crooked grin which always made her laugh. She was cute, but Spike soon learned she was also tough. A round of teasing ended up with an apple striking him dead between the eyes. After that, the two hung out by the water every chance they got. Annie ran her fingers through the water while Spike hung upside-down from a tree branch making faces into the distorted surface. She burst into laughter at his antics. “Used to be lonely when I visited Uncle Mao. He's always so busy. But it's more fun since you came.”

 

By now, Spike had seen a full year in the mansion. The training had built a fine layer of muscle on his lanky frame. He had gained a few inches without adding much weight. “Sure come here a lot.”

 

“Yeah … whenever mom and dad are busy out of town.”

 

Spike twisted around, gripped the tree and swung down onto the bank beside her. He landed awkwardly on one foot and pinwheeled, trying to save himself from falling in. His efforts were rewarded. “Shit, at least when you're here I have someone to show off to.” He picked up a flat stone and pointed out to a sunken tree stump. “Check this out...” He flicked his wrist and the stone skipped across the water to hit it with a thunk.

 

Annie stood up and grinned. “Oh yeah?” She matched his shot.

 

“Hey.” He pouted. “That was supposed to impress you.”

 

“You're gonna have to try harder than that, lunkhead.”

 

It was a good thing Leonard fetched him right after that. For Spike had been pondering how high in the tree he could climb to line up a truly spectacular shot. ...

 

Two years later, Spike balanced on the tree branch over the river walking back and forth with his hands in his pockets. He glanced up and smiled, Annie walked slowly down to the bank and sat down, staring out at the water. “Hey look who it is. It's Annie Oakly!” He chuckled. “Long time no see.”

 

She folded her arms and murmured, “Knock it off, lunkhead.”

 

He narrowed his eyes at her sullen mood. He flipped and hung upside-down beside her sticking his tongue out. “That's better, now you're smiling from my perspective.”

 

“Stop it, Spike.” She turned away. “It isn't funny.”

 

“Nonsense.” He persisted, stretching his arms wide and crossing his eyes. “I'm always good for a laugh.”

 

She pulled back her fist and socked him in the gut. Not expecting it, Spike doubled over and lost his grip on the branch. He dropped into the water with a surprised yelp.

 

Sputtering, he dragged himself up onto the dock. His unkempt hair washed over his eyes. “Damn it, Annie! What did you have to do a thing like that for?” Reaching back he plucked the Beretta from under his t-shirt and tipped it, water streamed out of the flooded barrel. “Now I have to clean and oil the whole thing.”

 

Annie froze the moment she saw his gun. “When did … when did you get that? Oh God! Oh no, Spike. He isn't … not you!”

 

He wrinkled his nose. “What are you babbling about?”

 

She grabbed his shoulders. “Spike, you have to leave here before he initiates you!”

 

He shrugged out of her grasp and ran a hand through his hair. “I don't know what all the fuss is about. You missed that if you wanted to come watch. It was six weeks ago.”

 

Horrified, she tugged on his shirt. “You're only fifteen!”

 

“Yeah, what of it?”

 

“You're going to die, Spike!”

 

He lifted a shoulder and laughed. “Eventually, yeah. That's bound to happen. The only dif is the how. Seriously, Annie. What's the big deal?”

 

She reared back as if to hit him. He prepared for a pummeling … that never came. Annie flopped forward and draped against his chest, sobbing. Spike stood there, puzzled for a long moment. His hands held out without any idea where to put them. Slowly, he wrapped them around her shoulders and let her cry into his wet shirt. Well, he was already damp. When she managed to lift her head again she stole a shaking glance up at him. “You have no idea what my uncle Mao has done, Spike. I think of you like a cousin … and now … oh God, he's taken your future.”

 

He forced a toothy grin. “Nah, he can't have done that. I had to have a future he could take in the first place.”

 

She pounded his shoulder. “Stop making a joke of this, Spike! Mao probably didn't tell you … there is only one way out of the syndicate … death.”

 

“Death,” he huffed, “it happens to everyone. The only thing we can't really escape. Crap, I woulda asked my parents, but ashes don't say a whole lot.” He regretted his words when she punched his shoulder. “Ooooww! Hey. Am I gonna get hit the whole time you're here, or what?”

 

She grew still, looking at the ground. “I'll be living with Mao from now on.”

 

Spike's smile faded. He looked shamefully at his sodden shoes. “Shit. I'm sorry I was such as ass. You shoulda said that first.”

 

“Nothing I can do about it. Can't even get the bastards behind it.” She wiped her eyes. When she looked up she found Spike staring blankly at his Beretta. Her breath caught in her chest. “You haven't … ”

 

He closed his eyes and nodded. “I think it's safe to say … their debt is paid. If I'd known I could have made it last longer.”

 

She held him close and shivered. “You shouldn't … you shouldn't do things like that, Spike. It's not you. You're not like the others. You shouldn't be doing this, you should be somewhere else.”

 

His eyes looked out into the water. He heaved a long sigh. “Where? I have nowhere else to go.”

 

“Don't let me see you die, Spike. I've seen too many die.”

 

He fought to offer her a confident grin, it faltered. “I promise, Anastasia.”

* * *

Spike awoke with a start. Something rattled outside his window. He snatched the Jericho beneath his pillow and rolled out of bed. Staying low, he leaned up and looked out into the darkened streets. In the flickering lamplight he spied the wind buffeting an empty can down the street.

 

A few more breaths and when nothing else shifted he lowered his gun. Leaning against the wall he exhaled with a long drawn out sigh.

 

“You know what, Annie? You really had shitty timing.”

 


	5. Session 5

**SESSION 5**

 

Through the smokey air Spike stared up at the bar clock, an empty whiskey glass grasped in his right hand. He didn't know why he had bothered to toss on a button up shirt with a collar, the thin black tie hung lose around his neck, the knot just below his collar bone. No, that wasn't true. He knew the twisted logic of that last choice. Didn't they used to hang criminals by their necks? He figured he might as well bring his own rope. In hind sight maybe dressing up for the final bow did make sense.

 

The hour clicked over. He bowed his head and closed his eyes. Half a day left. His last call to Shin was a wash. He'd hoped he had managed to maintain a sense of dignity, but something told him his voice had cracked when Shin had fallen silent before a somber apology.

 

_Fuckfuckfuck! Well, I'm about to find out what's on the other side. Aren't there a lot of nosey little screwballs who want to know? I suppose that's a plus. And at least I won't have to finish enduring the healing. Wonder if there's pain on the other side?_

 

A fist rapped on the bar. He glanced up at the bartender who pointed to the empty glass.

 

Spike shifted his gaze down and leaned back in the chair, cocking his right elbow on the rail of the chair. “Might as well live a little. Make it a double.”

 

The bartender upended the bottle and splashed the amber fluid in. Then he slid off to the other end to serve someone else.

 

Observing the drink, Spike rolled his eyes in a venomous glare to the bartender's back. _Is everyone going to stiff me today? I said a double!_ His hand closed into a fist.

 

The door opened and shut with a bluster of wind. Spike leaned forward about to slide off the chair. Hell, if the bartender took him out with a sharp bottle then he could save the syndicate a few bullets!

 

Footsteps hastily approached him. “Spike! Thank God.”

 

He turned and loosened his fist. Julia raced toward him, her usually tidy hair a windblown mess. His anger drained away, he started to slide off the chair in her direction.

 

She held up a hand. “No, stay there.” She hopped into the chair beside him and touched his shoulder, remarking hastily, “You at least look a bit better.”

 

“A bit?” _After what I looked like before?_ He huffed a laugh and snatched the drink off the counter roughly. “Gee, thanks for the complement.”

 

“Spike, I need to talk to you.”

 

He took a good stiff swallow of the whiskey and gagged. The refill had been the shitstock. Did he really look _that_ wasted? He discarded the glass on the counter and leaned his forehead on his right palm. “Come to say goodbye?”

 

She edged forward, working into his peripheral vision. “What are you talking about? No, Spike. It's Vicious.”

 

“Do you know where he is?” He glanced at her sideways.

 

She rapidly shook her head. “No … but … ”

 

He shut his eyes and turned away. “Then I don't give a shit.”

 

She grabbed his good shoulder and tried to pull him around. “Spike. I've been looking everywhere for you these past days.”

 

“Did you think to try my apartment?”

 

She shook her head. “I … don't know where that is.”

 

Spike's head dropped lower. Of course she didn't know. No one really did. That was the point. “Look, if you came to warn me that Vicious was coming to rip my head off for being at your place, that would be a blessing. I know, I shouldn't have gone there. But I didn't exactly have options … ”

 

Julia grabbed the back and of the chair and turned it, knocking Spike's head out of his hand. He stared at her. “Spike, would you shut up for two seconds and listen?”

 

He lifted his head, his glare softened. She was petrified of something. But … why come to him? She was Vicious's girl.

 

In the silence she put her hand on the counter. “Please, I'm really worried about him.”

 

“Him?” He narrowed his eyes.

 

“Vicious. Things have gotten bad. Really bad since you showed up that night.”

 

Spike shook his head. “You're not telling me anything I don't know, Julia. The word is all over the syndicate. And by now I'd be shocked if the rumor hasn't gotten out that I'm supposed to find him.”

 

Her eyes widened.

 

“No, not to kill him. Your boyfriend is safe,” he grumbled.

 

“We're not … together anymore.”

 

Spike stiffened. “What? Since when?”

 

“A week or so now. I couldn't handle it anymore. His moods when we were together, he wasn't _there_. I mean he was never with me in his mind. Always mumbling about something. The hollowness was more than I could bare. I broke it off.”

 

“Well, that explains why he's so pissed, Julia. Congratulations, you just started the syndicate war of the millennium.”

 

She shook her head. “He was going crazy before that! And I didn't see why, Spike. I missed it. Please tell me this isn't what I think it is!” She held out a small vial of purple liquid, half full.

 

Spike leaned forward and plucked it from her hand, holding it into the light. At one end the built in dispenser winked at him. His heart pounded in his chest. This could explain it all. “Where did you get this?”

 

“Is it what I—”

 

He shook it in front of her, shouting, “Where did you get this!”

 

“In the pocket of his jacket. One he'd left behind. I'm right it really is … ”

 

Spike hung his head cursing nine ways to the planets. “I am **so** fucked!”

 

“Maybe he was just dealing it. The syndicate deals in drugs like Purple Eye, right?”

 

“Yeah, but you're right. It explains everything. There's a rumor someone is working on a stronger version. But if he's using even these drops in his eyes the dang things speed up the neuro signal and the perception of time slows down. It's kind of trippy. But if you can perceive a punch coming at you ahead of time, you can plow through with a counter strike. Makes a mediocre fighter into a badass.” Spike shook his head. “And a guy like Vicious into a psycho.”

 

“It sounds like you've tried it ... ”

 

“Once.” He shrugged. “Doesn't work on synthetic eyes. So I had a really miserable couple of hours of the strangest double vision. Not worth throwing up everything I'd eaten in the last week.” He dropped the vial into his pocket and rapped his knuckles on the table. “Maybe if I tell them about this they'll postpone the execution.”

 

“Execution? Who's execution?”

 

Spike leaned back in the chair and muttered. “Mine. I had until tonight to find him and get him back on point. But if he's on Purple Eye I'll be lucky if I can get in two words before his katana gets through my guard. Do you think that will be quicker than a firing squad?”

 

Julia fell silent, studying her folded hands. “I'm sorry, Spike.”

 

“About what? You didn't fuck up. This is on me.”

 

His cell phone vibrated. He plucked it out and answered, “Yeah?”

 

Shin cried out, _“Found him! If you hurry you can catch up! Lin's tight on his tail.”_

 

Spike was already out of the chair and limping toward the door. “Tell him to back off, stay out of sight. Vicious is using.”

 

“ _Using … using what?”_

 

“I'll give you one clue, it matches his eyes!”

 

“ _Oh crap!”_

 

“Send me the location. I'm on my way. Even if I have to shoot the bastard!”

* * *

The trail had been easy enough to follow. A demolished car rammed hood first into a pole. The windshield shattered with a rectangular hole in the center of the spider webbing. Spike knew that sight at a glance. He'd seen it far more than any other Red Dragon, having witnessed the savage attacks of his previous partner in person. Following the trail of blood into a blind alley, he passed four bodies hacked into bits. The mark of the Blue Snake syndicate displayed on their sodden jackets. Great, another delegation shredded in Tharsis. That would go over well.

 

He spied Shin clinging to the corner of a building decorated in a wrap of bloody finger strokes. Shin peered around the edge of the building into the alley, his gun in his hand. Spike limped up as fast as he could manage. From the alley the whoosh of blade could be heard smacking into meat and bone.

 

Spike stole a glance. It was Vicious alright. His back to them, white hair streaked crimson. Another vehicle lay smoking at the end of the alley.

 

“That's a bloody mess he's gotten us into.” Shin remarked.

 

“You can say that.” Spike studied the lay of the alley. There really wasn't a good approach. “Where's Lin?”

 

He pointed up to the rooftop. Spike glanced up and saw the glint of a gun muzzle. “Good. Have him stay there. If Vicious isn't in a talking mood I'm going to need backup.”

 

Shin gaped. “You're not … Spike, he'll kill you.”

 

“One way or another.” He smirked. “And the sad thing is the asshole doesn't even know it yet.”

 

The click of his shoes echoed in the alley and broke through Vicious's panting breaths. He stopped about two katana lengths behind him wishing that his arm wasn't confined to sling. Dodging would be a lot harder. Standing stock still he glared at the back of his former partner's head.

 

Vicious turned slowly. The crazed gleam in his eyes told the whole story. He was on a savage high.

 

Spike gritted his teeth. Well, there was no going back now. “Vicious. We have to talk.”

 

“That's the problem.” His voice sounded like the ominous rumble of a glacier sliding into the ocean. “That's all the syndicates ever want to do is talk. It's time for action, Spike. Time to show our rivals our fangs.”

 

“The Blue Snakes were here on approved business.” He replied smoothly. Nothing in his right hand, he flexed it slowly. “You shouldn't be here.”

 

Vicious's eyes jerked, wandering over Spike from head to toe. “And you shouldn't be here … unarmed.”

 

“I'm _never_ unarmed. You know that perfectly well.”

 

A sickening smile. “You're a cripple. All the training in the world can't overcome that.” He raised the katana a fraction.

 

Spike flinched.

 

The smile twisted deeper. “You hesitated.”

 

“Don't … I don't want to fight you.”

 

“Then,” he took a step forward, “why are you here?”

 

Spike recognized his own words thrown back him. Stubbornly he held his ground. He could draw his gun in a heartbeat. But that katana was already drawn. And Vicious's eyes blazed with the fever of the drug. If he committed to a strike there would be no stopping it this close. Spike swallowed hard and stiffened, a bead of sweat rolled down his forehead. “Because I was ordered to.”

 

“By who?”

 

“The Van.”

 

Vicious laughed. “Throwing that at me again.”

 

“I wish I was lying.” Spike kept his eyes locked on Vicious's pupils. They were twitching. The crash would come, soon. But soon enough? If he could keep him talking, not piss him off. “But it's true. I was ordered to find you. This has to stop or there will be consequences.”

 

“Consequences?” Vicious swept his blade over the scattered bodies. “Look what you can do when you give your own orders. When you stop bowing to moldering old men with rotting ideals.”

 

Spike narrowed his eyes. _Crash damn it._ “Termination.”

 

“Take the Van's choking collar off!”

 

“Us.” Spike barked, “If you don't stop, they'll kill both of us!”

 

The pupils flared wide. Black pools banishing the purple irises. “Why don't we cut to the chase then!” He twisted his grip on the hilt. “Draw your gun! We can save them the ceremony!”

 

Spike stared into the twisted mass of darkness, witnessing the man he had once stood shoulder to shoulder with shredding at the core. The storm front brewing in the bruised horizons of his eyes surged in a promise of finality. Tightening his fist, Spike locked his stern gaze into the oncoming threat and embraced his fate. “No! By the order of the Van, you are to yield to me.”

 

The storm flared wild. It was like watching a bolt of violet lightning pierce Vicious's eyes. “To you?” He hissed. “They promoted you … _above_ me?”

 

“We're still equals. But this ends here and now.” Spike declared. The flicker in Vicious's glare intensified. Not the crash he had been hoping for, but a secondary burst. _Well, what do I have to live for anyway? Not a damn thing._ He stood his ground.

 

Vicious laughed and charged at Spike. At the last minute he lowered the blade and rammed his shoulder into Spike's left arm.

 

Spike doubled over, kneeling in the blood drenched alley and trembling at the spasms as he gripped the still splinted bone.

 

“That's better.” Vicious hissed in his ear. “If you're going to continue to take the orders of the weak and dying then you should assume the proper position. Kneeling!”

 

He sheathed the blade and took three steps before crumbling like a rag doll.

 

Spike leaned his forehead against the ground. Shin and Lin circled around Vicious's unconscious body, guns drawn. Slowly, Spike sat back, still holding his throbbing arm. “Take him … back to … the tower. I'll call ahead.”

 

They nodded in unison and mutely carried him off. Spike clumsily plucked out a cigarette and balanced it in his mouth before pulling out his lighter. It sucked only having one hand at the moment. After a few breaths of smoke he flicked to a number on his phone and waited for an answer. Mao's face appeared in the video feed. “Hey … I get to live.”

 

Mao heaved a sigh of relief. _“The Van wanted me to remind you if you contacted me in time. Vicious must follow the code.”_

 

Spike frowned and looked around the body strewn alley. Then over to the direction Vicious's unconscious form had been carried off in. Without glancing at Mao he muttered, “Can't I just kill him? It would be easier.”

 

“ _Spike.”_

 

“I could make it look like an accident.”

 

“ _The police may not recognize your MO, but the syndicate knows your signature. They will find out and you know the price of murdering a comrade. I can't protect you.”_

 

Spike bowed his head. “Why does everything end in death?”

 

“ _Because … it's a permanent solution. The dead never return to haunt the living.”_

 

He didn't answer, he just stared wearily at his mentor.

 

“ _I'm proud of you.”_

 

Spike nodded slowly and killed the feed. The flash of light haunting Vicious's eyes plagued him as he staggered to his feet. This wasn't over. Once Vicious detoxed the real work began. He heaved a sigh and started the long walk to the tower wishing it was to his bed instead. Nights like this were why he didn't bother with a nicer place. Nights like this …

 


	6. Session 6

**SESSION 6**

 

Spike flicked his lighter. Nothing happened. He flicked it repeatedly, growling under his breath as the dented metal device failed him. A fresh cigarette quivered between his lips. He smacked the lighter against his left knee then flicked it again. A small flame guttered into view.

 

“Great,” he muttered as he lit the cigarette. “I've only had this damn thing for a month and it's already unreliable.”

 

Sitting back against the wall, he rested his right arm on a bent knee and stared at the dim ceiling. His left arm still throbbed despite the hours that had passed since the confrontation. He snatched the cigarette and held in his right hand. Something between his fingers kept him from attempting a futile massage of the healing injury. Besides, the splint covered too much of it anyway.

 

A slight motion to his right caught his eye. He turned and watched as Vicious rolled his head to one side, his eyes gradually fluttered open. Spike waited in silence, watching with indifference … until Vicious's pupils focused on him with a start.

 

Then, he frowned.

 

Vicious tried to turn away. He moaned with the effort.

 

“Let me see your eyes.” Spike waited for a half a minute, when Vicious refused to comply he reached over and pried open each lid despite the feeble protest it earned him. “You're lucky you're not blind.”

 

“Sight … can be restored,” he whispered, pushing Spike's hand away.

 

“How about common sense?”

 

Vicious squinted in the dimly lit chamber. “Where are we?”

 

“You should recognize it. We were here before when you decided to sample the goods. Only this time I couldn't sneak you in and cover it up. They know, Vicious. But the real question is who did you get it from? It's not ours and the damn vial I found on you was contaminated.”

 

He lay there motionless, staring at Spike's slinged arm.

 

After two minutes, Spike pushed up from the floor with a grunt. “Fine. I'll figure it out for myself. See you when they unlock the detox chamber, you idiot.”

 

“Spike … is it true?”

 

He paused, his knuckles a fraction of inch from knocking on the door to be let out. “Is  _what_ true?”

 

“Are you … responsible for my actions?”

 

His shoulders fell. Without a word, he knocked on the door and left Vicious to his self-inflicted torment.

* * *

In the slums of Deseado city, a man whistled a tune as he turned up the collar of his coat. He tugged the tweed cap down and peered to either side before edging down an alley. In the shadows he paused and glanced around, a puzzled expression on his face.

 

The click of a lighter off to his left drew his attention. He turned to see the flickering flame, the red glow on the end of a cigarette. The lighter in his left hand, Spike flipped the safety back on and took his time tucking it back in his pocket before meeting the man's gaze.

 

“Sor … sorry I'm late.” The man held out his hands. “I had to shake a tail. Competition is getting tight and—”

 

“Did you bring it, Surly?” Spike cut him off with the dead toned question.

 

A shiver went down Surly's spine as he heard his real name instead of his dealer identity. He reached slowly into his pocket and pulled out a small purple vial. “Fresh batch. Just this morning … the price is going up though, if you Red Dragons want it. I got another offer ear—”

 

Surly's words died in his throat as the side of Spike's hand drove into his neck and cracked the windpipe. The vial hovered in the air as Surly toppled backward, grasping his throat and trying to take a breath. Spike snatched the vial in mid-air and crushed it between his fingers. He landed a kick in the dealer's soft gut and bounced him off the wall. But he wasn't finished. He picked the man up by his left arm and slung him in an overhand throw, the joints popping in the process. Surly made a whistling attempt at a scream as the punishing blows continued until he lingered on the edge of blacking out for lack of oxygen.

 

Not even breathing hard, Spike leaned over the dealer with a hard-eyed glare. “Do you have any idea how much trouble you have been? I wasted three weeks tracking your sorry ass down. And if you're wondering why, then you get to go to your grave as clueless as you lived!”

 

He grasped the man's head in both hands and gave it a popping wrench. Everything fell limp. Spike rifled through his pockets and collected a handful of purple vials. Each and every one he ground beneath his shoe beside the body. Dropping his cigarette butt he turned and walked out of the alley with his hands in his pockets headed for where he had parked the _Swordfish_.

 

“I hope you're happy, Vicious,” he snapped to himself as he climbed into the cockpit and readied her for the flight back to Tharsis. “Gonna burn a full tank of fuel each way. Shit … I need to get her tuned again.”

* * *

It was so late by the time he landed in Tharsis that it was technically early. Spike hunched over a plate of runny eggs with a slice of soggy toast in Ruby's Diner, a shabby joint he frequented. He chewed on a bit of the rubbery egg watching out of the corner of his eye as the waitress hastily skirted by him not looking his way as she headed to the only other patron in the diner.

 

Spike grinned lopsidedly, his cheek still red from where she'd backhanded him for a callous remark he'd made. She was new. She'd get used to him, if she stuck around.

 

He reached into a small box on the table and pulled out the ridiculously cheery card, reading it for the third time.  _Happy 23 rd Birthday, Spike! I hope you find your gift useful._

 

He hefted a brand new metal-cased oil lighter with a fond smile. If anything could take the abuse, this thing could. Mao knew him well. He tucked it into his pocket … footsteps sounded behind him. His hand reached down for the gun, ready to draw it without appearing so.

 

Julia slid into the booth on the opposite side of the table. “You're hard to find these days.”

 

Spike gave a dry laugh. “I'm always hard to find when I'm busy … which is pretty much always.” He returned to picking at the unappetizing eggs. “Don't recommend anything tonight. The usual chef isn't in.”

 

She watched him with a soft smile. “You're using your left hand.”

 

He flexed the fingers absently. “Yeah. For a few days now. Can't complain.”

 

In the long silence she asked, “Are you off-duty?”

 

He eyed her with a smirk. “You know the answer to that.”

 

“I meant, were you free to do something?”

 

That question peeked his interest. He dropped the fork with a sigh. “Depends. What do you have in mind?”

 

She pointed over her shoulder. “It's been a while since I played pool. How about you?”

 

Spike stood and fetched the birthday card from the table, tucking it into his jacket. “Sounds better than this.”

 

They were on their way out to the door when the waitress yelled after him, “How about a tip!”

 

He waved over his shoulder, “You need a different shade of lipstick. That color makes you look like a cheap harlot.”

 

The door swung shut on her ranting. Julia walked beside him. “Why do you say things like that?”

 

“What?” He slouched his shoulders. “I was just being honest.”

 

He opened the pool hall door and held it for her to enter the smokey building. In no time the two of them were settled at a corner table. Spike had shed his jacket, just in the shirt and loose tie. His heart wasn't really in the game as he let Julia have every other turn.

 

He leaned his hip against the table during her shot, staring at nothing in particular through the threads of smoke from his fourth cigarette. She leaned on the table adjusting the cue, moving, adjusting it again.

 

Barely glancing, he remarked, “You want the six? Aim for the second diamond on the far rail. Nope, not that angle. A little more to the right. There. Just like that.”

 

She pulled the cue back and took the shot. The ball rebounded at the angle right inline with the six, knocking into the pocket.

 

“See?”

 

She straightened up and took in the marks for the first time. “I've never done that before.”

 

“What? Used the divisions? It's easy.”

 

“Does it work every time?”

 

He nodded and threw a thumb over his shoulder. “Once you get a handle on the geometry … at least I think that's what it's called. Anyway, yeah … set the shot up again and see.”

 

“But … that throws the game.”

 

He laughed. “I don't really care about that. Go on, reset it and try it again.”

 

Julia plucked the six from the pocket and put it back on the table in the same spot. Meanwhile Spike rolled the cue ball back into position. He watched as she leaned down.

 

“Now, look down the cue. Not at the ball, you're looking at the ball. You want to look right there.” His hand reached out and hovered over hers, pointing in a straight line to the diamond. The scent of roses cut through the cigarette smoke. Spike stiffened awkwardly as he realized how close he was to her. “Now you just … uhh … take the shot.” Spike backed out of the light over the table to cover his blushing.

 

Oblivious to his discomfort, she pulled back on the cue and the same reaction happened. Julia smiled. “Now wait a minute … how do you do that ball skip?”

 

He sought refuge in the patterns of balls on the table. “You mean 'hopping'?” He selected a ball in a cluster and set the cue low on the cue ball. “Like this.” He smacked it sharply with a slight upward flick. The cue ball hopped over the pack and freed the target, plunking it into the pocket.

 

Julia shifted across the table for a better angle, leaned down and tried to copy the move. The cue lifted the ball … a bit hard. Instead of landing in range of the target, it launched into the air directly at Spike!

 

In a bit of shock, he barely caught it before it hit him. “That … is called a 'scratch'. And it's a great way to give someone a black eye.” He dropped the ball back on the table. “How about we stick to angle shots for tonight.”

 

The sky turned pale by the time they left the hall to walk down the deserted streets. Spike's jacket hung off one finger over his shoulder, his other hand in his pocket. For a few blocks they walked in silence until Julia glanced up at him. “Where do you live, Spike?”

 

He stopped. His gaze at an undetermined point in front of him.

 

“It's not fair.” She shrugged. “You know where I live.”

 

Spike shook his head. “Seriously, it's not worth your walk. Besides, why do you want to know?”

 

Julia's eyes caught the dawn's light and sparkled as she laughed. “They say you can tell a lot about someone by how live … and I want to get to know you better.”

 

He rolled his eyes. “Well … prepare to be disappointed.” Against his better judgment, he lead her across town toward the sleepy neighborhood. It was a long silent walk until they reached the apartment building. He trudged up the steps to his second story apartment and opened the door with an unenthusiastic, “Tadah.”

 

In the doorway, Julia peered into the small series of sparse rooms. Yellowed paint flecked off the walls casting chips onto the scraped wooden floor. In the center of what could be called the living room, an old couch and table were the only real furniture. The dented base of a broadcast receiver collected dust in the middle of the table. Through the door in the rear she could just see the edge of the mattress draped in crumpled bedding. She could hear the drip of a faucet around the corner. A steady plunk into the tub. Strewn around the edges of the rooms were boxes with various things sticking out of them. His apartment was a chaotically stocked armory. She blinked at as she realized next her foot was a box of military grade grenades with the Mars Army logo blatantly embossed on the side.

 

Spike tossed his jacket onto the back of the couch and strode into the kitchen. With his back to her, Julia could see the edge of his gun peeking out from the half-tucked shirt.

 

“Nobody comes here except me, so I don't have much.” He dug in the fridge. “Hey, I know you used to drink beer. This stuff's old, but the last one went down alright.”

 

Julia peeked into the dusty kitchen at the bare cupboards. The stove knobs looked to be rusted in place. There wasn't even a single pan in sight. “You don't use this room much, do you.”

 

Spike cracked open the bottles and flashed that lazy grin of his. “I don't cook. I burn things.” He handed her a bottle while taking a swig of his own.

 

“Didn't your mom teach you?” She chuckled … but stopped the moment Spike's eyes grew distant, the grin dashed from his face into a blank stare at the floor. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean … ”

 

He took a deep gulp from the bottle and flopped down onto the couch. “Well, that's what diners are for, right?”

 

Julia drifted to the couch and sat down sideways, facing him. Preoccupied with the bottle, Spike twirled it and watched the bubbles collide. After several minutes she leaned forward and set a hand on his knee. He stopped, his eyes locked on her hand. “Spike, are you alright?”

 

His eyes closed, and he turned away, “Everything's just dandy.”

 

“Clearly it isn't, something is bothering you.”

 

He took a few long breaths before squinting at her. “Why are you here, Julia?”

 

“Because … ” She faltered, breaking away from Spike's intense stare. Then, she mastered herself and met it. “Because I care about you.”

 

“Me? Why?”

 

Julia pulled her hand back into her lap. “Because you're not like anyone else I know. Because … when you look at me it's not like how any other guy does. Your eyes don't undress me with an unbridled hunger.”

 

Heat colored his cheeks, he looked away. “Well … uhhh … how do you know … I don't … ?”

 

“I know,” she lowered her gaze to her hands, “because you don't flash those stupid pickup lines at me that you spew at other women. You've always been a gentleman to me.”

 

Spike gave a short, uncomfortable laugh. “Vicious would have skewered me on his katana if I hadn't. You were his girl, I knew better than to piss him off … ”

 

Her hand rested on his, Spike stiffened as she looked straight into his eyes. “But, I'm not anymore, Spike. We are free to make our own decision now … if you want to.”

 

“I … I really can't.” He stuttered, but his eyes told another story to her. A buried longing dwelt in their dark pools.

 

It was her turn to blush. “I never forgot how much you made me laugh whenever you were around, Spike. Even back then I wanted to get to know the real you, but I didn't dare. Not when I was with Vicious. I couldn't come between you two, and I knew his temper. Please, Spike. Can you give us a chance? Start as friends at least?”

 

His eyes quivered, staring straight into hers. In the silence his head nodded almost imperceptibly.

 

She smiled softly, “If I had your number I could call.”

 

Wordlessly, he took her offered phone and entered his number with a weary resignation. He'd been up too long, and the day was catching up to him. He walked Julia to the door and watched her until she vanished down the staircase.

 

His head rested against the door frame. “But … you won't.”

 


	7. Session 7

**SESSION 7  
**

Two days later, Spike woke up with a rolling jerk. His hand slipped under the pillow and drew the Jericho in an automatic response as he crouched along the floor toward the pounding on his door. A chilly draft pricked his bare skin. He'd gone to sleep in only a pair of sweatpants, still overheated after a vigorous martial arts routine. A routine he had pushed to twice a day in order to recondition his healed body. The cold barely registered as he pressed himself against the wall and grasped the doorknob, his gun pointed right where the gap would be. No one knew where his place was. Not even Mao. Whoever jack-hammered his door taunted their fate.

 

He took a deep breath, wrenched the door open … and froze. “Juli—Mmmmph!”

 

The moment the door opened, she threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and smashing her lips against his. The collision sent him reeling in a short fall back against the wall. His eyes shot wide as she pressed into him. At last she drew back, still hanging off of him in desperation. “Thank God you're alive!”

 

“Last time I checked,” he snidely remarked. “What the hell is this about? Don't people usually greet one another with a handshake?” He held up his gun and eyed her sideways. “Seriously, that almost got you killed. Half awake assassins tend not to think before they shoot.”

 

She grabbed his wrist and tugged him into the room. “Turn on the news.”

 

He grumbled, kicking the door shut in his wake. Dropping the gun on the table he turned on the broadcast receiver. The device's translucent screen flickered and popped, emitting an annoying squeal. He cringed at the sound and shut his blurry eyes. “Damn piece of shit!” He brought his fist down on the edge of it, leaving yet another dent. But after a brief crackle of static the picture cleared. He stared with mild interest as Julia pointed at the screen filled by images of the burning diner.

 

Through half-lidded eyes he muttered, “So that is what happens when a chef gets fired. Heh, the eggs weren't  **that** bad.”

 

Julia snatched his hand. He could feel her pulse racing against his skin. Her eyes puckered as she looked into his.

 

Spike leaned back, visually following his arm to where her vice-like grip held on for dear life. “You … you really worried I was there.”

 

Shakily, she nodded. A moment later she pulled herself against his chest.

 

He lowered his head, burying his face in the blond curls. Roses … that sweet clinging sent. So it had not been his imagination. “You know, you could have called.”

 

“I tried. You didn't answer.”

 

“You couldn't've. I have a conditioned reflex to wake up if the damn thing even vibrates.” He pondered that for a moment. Carefully he extracted himself from her arms and stalked into the bedroom. He picked up his phone and jammed the button.

 

It didn't turn on.

 

“Shit!” He hastily tore the drained battery out of it and ran into the living room grabbing a spare battery off the charger. Ramming the fresh battery in, he turned the phone on with a frantic scramble. Staring at the screen he heaved a relieved sigh. “Phew. I only missed your calls … ”

 

“Only?” She stomped towards him. “ _Only_ mine?”

 

He blinked down at her before glancing at the device. “Yeah … if I'd missed another kind of call I'd be as dead as that battery. They don't take lame excuses from  **anyone** , yah know.” Through the half-awake haze he stared at the phone log again.  _Eight times? She tried to reach me eight times and **then** ran all the way across the city to see if I was alright on the chance I had been there … whoa._ He looked over at her, the same intense stare greeted him in her trembling eyes. “You really … were serious … the other day.”

 

She blushed and nodded, not breaking the eye contact.

 

In the pre-dawn light, Spike's hand fell to his side nearly dropping the phone from his numb fingers. “Julia … I—” His words were halted as the phone vibrated. He glanced at his orders and hung his head. “I'm sorry. I have to go.”

 

She reached forward and took his hand, giving it a squeeze. “I understand. Call me.” She drifted out the door. Spike's eyes followed her every move until the door closed. Then, he stared at the little device in his hand. If she hadn't come, he'd still be asleep … with a dead battery.

 

The late afternoon sun streamed through the window. Julia sat at her table humming softly as she finished oiling her gun. She clicked a magazine in and set it down, cleaning her hands on a towel. Knowing what this city was, she felt some sense of comfort that she had a piece should some thug break down her door. Tharsis was after all a hotbed for the unsavory. If they weren't members of the Red Dragon syndicate, they were reckless glory hounds gunning to take on the tower in the center of the city. A tower so well protected that even though the I.S.S.P. knew it was the syndicate's land-based headquarters they never managed to get even close to penetrating it. Of course they hadn't. She personally knew the kind of guard dogs who ensured the syndicate's survival.

 

A soft knock on the door caught her attention. She tucked her gun under her blouse and walked across the room. Opening the door she took a step back. She found Spike leaning against the door frame, a cigarette smoldering between his teeth as he gave her a cocked grin. His hands rested in the pockets of his leather jacket. Ashen debris dusted his shoulders, a smudge of it on one cheek. “Hey, I was in the neighborhood and passed this place a few blocks away. They say the brisket there is to die for.”

 

Without a word, she grabbed her jacket and swung out the door beside him. Outside on the street, she eyed him until he looked sideways at her. “What's so funny?”

 

“Don't you usually wear a trench coat for a hit?”

 

Spike chuckled. “Yup.”

 

“Why not this time?”

 

“You know, I kinda shredded my last one.” He shrugged. “I haven't gotten around to replacing it yet. I suppose I could be like Vicious and flaunt my officer's coat on the job. But that damn cross braid tends to catch on stuff. So, I went with a classic. Good thing it still fits.”

 

She laughed, “You look like when we first met, before my uncle sent me off to college. I remember you wore it all the time back then.”

 

“Good leather. And a nice thing about it too, flame resistant.” He raised an eyebrow. “I forgot that's where you went off to. For some fancy law degree for Shyster and Loophole Inc, right?”

 

Julia snickered. “My uncle's name is Skylark, not Shyster.”

 

“Just callin' it like it is.”

 

“Anyway, I'm just a paralegal.”

 

“Shit, that's still a nice paycheck. Explains the classy apartment.”

 

She blushed. “He only paid for a degree as high as I needed to help out the firm on a legit level. He hasn't had a lot of business lately, though. But if you ever got busted, you know it's his job to get you out. With your rank you're considered too valuable an asset.”

 

Spike smiled smugly. “First they have to catch me.”

 

He held the door and gestured for her to enter the restaurant. They entered to find it very quiet in-between meal rushes. The moment they passed the waitress the color drained from her face as she took in Spike's casual grin. Her eyes flashed to a series of old bullet holes tracing an arc on the back wall. He sat down at a table and leaned back in the chair waiting for her to gain the courage to come on over with a menu. Julia took her seat and followed Spike's amused gaze... then she looked where the waitress was staring. “Have you … been here before?”

 

He smiled all the way into his eyes. “A while ago you could say I shredded some pork.”

 

“Oh Spike.” Julia moaned into her hands, laughing a moment later.

 

“Not my fault the guy ducked in here thinking he was safe. Anyway, thought I should probably buy something this time to make up for dropping in without a reservation my last visit.”

 

They chatted idly during their meal about nothing in particular. Afterward, while walking along the street, Julia glanced over in surprise to find Spike handling her gun experimentally. “How did you …?” She pulled back her blouse to find it missing.

 

He gripped it loosely. “I didn't know you had your own piece. An old Ruger P85. Nice upkeep.”

 

She held out her hand for it. “That was my father's and I want it back, Spike.”

 

“Daddy wants his little girl safe, huh?” He rolled it around his finger and deposited the grip into her waiting hand. “You know how to handle it?”

 

“I'm a big girl, Spike. I can pull the trigger if I have to.”

 

He thumbed the air toward the river. “Let's see what you got.” In no time, Julia and Spike had ducked beneath one practically abandoned bridge. He set a row of cans and bottles up on the riverside railing near the trickling river flow.

 

Julia squeezed off a few shots. One hit the target with a satisfying CLINK! The can went spinning.

 

Spike pulled out his Jericho and checked the mag. He was about to aim when Julia leaned over for a closer look. “You used to have a Beretta.”

 

He held the gun out to let her see it, complete with the modifications. He'd added a custom grip, a nice laser sight, and replaced the recoil spring with a lighter chrome. “I switched to this one a while ago. But I still have that old Beretta, and a few others. Shit happens, things break. Anyway, I like how accurate this one handles. Watch … ” He extended his hand and stared straight down the top of the barrel, shutting one eye as he focused on the center of the smallest tin can.

 

A second from pulling the trigger he was forced to pause as Julia burst into laughter. Lowering his gun he cocked his head. “What?”

 

“You make that same face when you shoot pool!” She grinned.

 

“Well … I suppose that makes sense, really.” He scratched his head. “The mechanics are the same … well, sort of.” He puzzled through the comparison realizing how automatically he calculated the shots regardless. “Damn. It really _is_ that close!”

 

“Except there's no diamonds to aim at.” She leaned against the bridge pillar with a smile.

 

Spike shook his head. “Yes … there actually are. The rate of accuracy changes with the nature of things, though.”

 

Julia cocked her head at him, staring in a confused silence.

 

“Ok, ok … let me explain. Remember the angle shots in pool? You aim for the rail to get the right rebound to hit the backside of a ball. Right?” When she nodded slowly, he turned back to the bridge. “Alright, so say I want to hit that big can off to the left there, but there's something in the way... the big can thought it was smart in its last moments of life and is hiding behind the bridge pillar. You get the point. I don't have to move to get it. I can just aim like this instead.”

 

He slipped the gun's sight up toward a steel plate on the underside of the bridge. His eye rode the line and adjusted the angle a fraction. Squeezing the trigger, he ricocheted the bullet off the steel plate in a redirected line that blew through the top of the can and sent it tumbling to the ground toward them.

 

“Slick!” She raised her eyebrows.

 

“Course that's not really ideal, even if the shot still has lethal force.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Well, unlike the pool balls, once the bullet hits the metal it deforms and loses the rifle spin. That means the prediction of the shot has a greater margin of error. But on a target the size of fully grown man … ” he shrugged, “that becomes rather moot. Well, I've only had to make that shot a handful of times in a pinch, lucky so far.”

 

Julia stared at him before drifting to his side. “Do you think like that all the time?”

 

Spike glanced around, stunned as he tested her question. “I never realized it … but yeah. Years of doing it just comes automatic.” He shrugged, and then gave a little grin. “Anyway, come look over my shoulder and I'll show you how to use the sight … apparently like a pool cue.”

 

Julia's breath stirred the hair on the back of his neck as he squeezed off a few rounds. The targets clattered and crashed backward into the air. He stepped aside and tucked the Jericho away. “Now, you.”

 

As she braced herself, Spike crouched beside her and reached forward to nudge her grip a touch. She paused for a moment, the angle looked slightly off. She corrected it, only to have Spike nudge it back. “But … ”

 

“Trust me.” He winked. “Just about every gun has a slight variance. Yours kicks left a tick.”

 

“You haven't even fired it, how do you know?” When he just grinned at her and nodded toward the targets, she exhaled and squeezed the trigger. The bullet smacked the can dead in the center.

 

“See?” He grinned.

 

“How is yours off, then?” She smirked.

 

Spike chuckled. “I hand selected it. It isn't. But my Beretta used to kick low right.” His head snapped up at the blare of a police siren crossing the bridge. He held a finger to his lips and grabbed her by the wrist to dash along the culvert under the overhang. Seconds later a couple of cops slid down to find the underside of the bridge deserted.

 

Well out of sight, Spike and Julia slowed to a casual walk. She glanced over her shoulder. “All this time … and they haven't even got a clue about you.”

 

He nodded, hands back in his pockets. “Staying five steps ahead isn't that hard once you know how. They catch onto the bottom feeders pretty quick, you know, the new initiates. That's kind of part of the process of elimination. The low ranks have a high turn over. Staying below the radar is kinda a job requirement for reaching rank. You can't do it, you won't make it. Point blank. That's why they're nick-named  _fresh meat_ . But honestly, the cops left around here are cowards. If you asked me, all the good ones know better than to try and enforce the law here in  _our_ city. They ask for a transfer to some other place …” Spike gave a sly grin. “And any who  _could_ actually do anything won't because they'd be losing that nice little under the table feeding.”

 

She winked at him. “You have no idea how many are on the take.”

 

“Huh. I have a pretty good idea. Even in the exalted I.S.S.P. they've clearly been bought. Couple months ago some schmuck was tailing a rival syndicate member. Word is he would've had him, too. But his own partner took him out. Heh. And they have the gall to say there is no honor among thieves when the 'civilized' behave like that. Shit, when the cops'll tag each other in the back over a meager bribe you know there's little point in chatting morality. The only difference between us and the I.S.S.P. is they have badges and we bought some of them. At least we don't deny what we do.”

 

Julia shook her head. “Spike, you should see the money that changes hands in the judicial circuit. When I was dating Vicious he never talked much about it. I only got a better grasp of how corrupt things were once I graduated and started working the office. I hear there are squads assigned to recruit turncoats.”

 

“Yup. That's a fresh meat task. It's how Vicious and I started out. He thought that whole scheme was deliciously clever as we studied our targets, blackmail is cheaper than putting them on the payroll. Course, Vicious had a tendency to kill them in the process of convincing them. So that task didn't last very long. They shifted us to something more suited to our skills.” Spike ran a hand through his hair. “He didn't go on about it?”

 

She ducked into her jacket against the growing wind. After a long pause she sighed, “He didn't talk much to me. He never even really … smiled.”

 

Spike held out a cigarette for her. “I guess that really shouldn't surprise me after all. The only time Vicious smiled was when he was torturing someone.”

 

“What was it like … being his partner?”

 

He took a long moment to reply, lighting their cigarettes first. “Grueling.”

 


	8. Session 8

**SESSION 8**

 

Julia threw her head back in laughter. Spike painstakingly carried a single bullet between his fingers toward a tower of them he had spent the last hour stacking one at a time on her kitchen table by the window. “Almost got it … just a bit more. And … we have it!” He backed his hand carefully away and grinned. “How many boxes was that?”

 

She shook her head. “Does it matter? It's impressive.” In truth it didn't matter to her what he was doing. For the past three weeks he had been dropping by, unannounced almost every day and lingering until either his phone called him away on orders, or to go back to his place for some sleep. His company was always entertaining in a spectacular fashion. It felt good to not be alone … in his eyes she swore she recognized that same longing, barely concealed.

 

“Hrm, it looks vaguely like that Eiffel tower thingy in Alba's crater city. I guess there was one on Earth at some point. Sure wasn't when I was there.” Spike glanced down. “Oh, I missed a 9mm! Here we go again.”

 

Julia cracked a grin. This was the joker she had remembered watching years ago from a distance. When they hung out together, while Vicious sat in his brooding silence, his partner had often been occupying himself with some ludicrous activity. For once she could fully relax and encourage Spike. And for what it was worth, as time went on, Spike seemed to ease back into his more comical side. If she didn't know that Spike was a higher level syndicate assassin, she never would have guessed it by his behavior in her apartment. “You went to Earth?”

 

“Where do you think I got the _Swordfish II_?” He winked. “Been awhile though. So likely with all the meteor impacts more of that planet is leveled. Doubt I would recognize it. Surprisingly, there are a lot of people living there. It was actually the first time I gained an appreciation for being born on Mars.” Once more he pulled his fingers back and grinned. “Tadah!”

 

His foot ticked the table leg and the whole thing showered onto the floor in a tremendous ruckus. Julia covered her ears. Bullets scattered all over the place.

 

Spike leaned on one elbow and plinked the last bullet off the table. “And now it looks like the falls. Oops.” He glanced out the window and sighed at the pitch black sky. “It's getting late. I should clean this up and get back across—”

 

Julia laid her hand on his. “Stay the night.”

 

He stared at her blankly for a long moment. “I … well … I suppose I could sleep on the couch. Probably more comfortable than my lousy bed.”

 

She smiled and grabbed the thin black tie hanging loose on his neck. Spike found himself pulled up by her. “No. You don't have to. The bed is big enough … if you want.”

 

His mouth opened and closed without a sound.

 

In the bedroom, she knelt on the bed and pulled him onto the end of it. Spike sat there like a statue, tension returned and banished the easy mood he had moments before. Julia reached forward and started to rub his shoulders. “Relax. You look like you had a heart attack.”

 

He reached up a hand and lifted hers away. “Are you … you really want to … ”

 

“Spike.” She leaned forward and kissed him on the lips. “Only if you want to.”

 

Gently, he reached around her shoulders and pulled her closer, returning the kiss and easing into the mutual embrace. All the tension flooded from his frame.

 

She whispered into his ear, “It's alright to let your guard down here. You can always let your guard down here.”

 

Slowly, he reached back and pulled the Jericho from the holster. Julia watched as he slid it toward the head of the bed. Not to the nightstand, where she hoped … but under the pillow. His eyes met hers, a subtle intensity burned in their mismatched pools. “Never all the way.”

 

*** 

Sunlight spilled across the room when Julia opened her eyes. Beside her, the bed was empty, the covers thrown back. She sprang up and wrapped a robe around herself, dashing out the bedroom door. “Spike?”

 

She stopped. Tendrils of smoke drifted up through the light shafts of the kitchen window. His silhouette broke up the shape, head deeply bowed. He was dressed, the tie caught on his knee and hanging awkwardly, his jacket crumpling in his hand.

 

“Spike … are you alright?”

 

He barely moved. The sun caught his eyes as they cracked open. The dark brown shimmered, almost a brilliant amber.

 

She hurried across the room and knelt before him. “Spike, what's wrong?”

 

As she reached up, he drew back from her, almost cringing. “I can't … ”

 

She rested a hand on his knee. “Can't what? Spike, talk to me!”

 

He opened his eyes wide and ran a trembling hand through her hair. “I can't have this … I can't condemn you to this. If something were to happen to me … shit … ” He bowed his head again.

 

“I know what I risk.” She massaged his hand. “Spike, I understand.”

 

He trembled, his voice a whisper. “I didn't … not until this morning.”

 

Julia pulled herself up, wrapping her arms around him.

 

“So many years ago … those words had no effect on me. But now … now I can't shake it. Annie told me … she was crying, seriously frightened and I was too damn cocky to think about her words for a second. She'd said she'd seen too many die. I was a fool. I never should have … ” Spike's hand clenched into a fist against his heart. “Now I know … I know what I can't ever have.”

 

Julia bent over him. “You can have anything you want, Spike.”

 

He uncoiled and looked up into her eyes. She'd never seen so much torment in all her life reflected in his eyes. “This! A normal life … Julia. Maybe in bits and pieces, but the calm will never last. They own me. They own me. My life. My future.” His gaze drifted to his phone sitting on the table.

 

Her pulse quickened.

 

“I have an hour … and all I can do is sit here paralyzed at the thought of dying.” He gripping his hair and shook his head.

 

She knelt down and forced him to met her eyes. “Listen to me. We'll take what we can get, then. In bits and pieces. I'm willing to risk it for whatever time we can have.”

 

“One day I **will** walk out that door and never come back.” He whispered. “That's not an 'if', it's a 'when'. And before it never mattered because it was just me … and nobody gave a shit what happened. Least of all, me!”

 

She shook her head and stood, pulling his gaze up with her. “Spike, do what you have to do.”

 

Slowly he stood and forced a shaky smile. He grasped her hand. “Are you sure you really want to do this?”

 

Her answer was to embrace him. “Baby, come home.”

 

Spike buried his face in her hair … roses. He would remember, always.

 ***

Lin glanced sideways at Shin from the bench where they sat waiting. “He's late. I may not know where his place is, but I know the general vicinity. It doesn't take this long to get here.”

 

“Maybe … ,” Shin murmured, “maybe he wasn't at his home, brother. It's not like we tail him.”

 

“Where else would he be? It's morning. The pool halls aren't open.”

 

“It's none of your business where I was.” Spike's voice carried over their shoulders giving them both a start.

 

They looked back to find him standing behind the bench, hands in the pockets of a trench coat. Neither brother said a word.

 

Spike shifted a lazy gaze to the half-boarded up office building across the street. “So, this is where Orwell has gone to ground all this time. He still inside?”

 

Lin nodded. “Yes, we followed him here two hours ago. Can't believe he thought he could just up and vanish, cutting ties with the syndicate. Didn't his capo tell him the price of leaving?”

 

Leaning onto the back of the bench, Spike studied the building for possible escape routes. With no fire escape, it looked like there was only one way. A long drop off the rooftop. Orwell was a terrible shot, especially when under pressure. Precisely what caused him some recent grief when he failed his last hit. All Spike had to do was go inside and flush him out. The coward would likely run … either out to Lin and Shin lying in wait, or up to the roof. The end would be the same. It was an insult of an order for Spike's caliber.

 

Lin narrowed his eyes, his nostrils flaring as he turned to Shin, “Do you smell something … roses?”

 

“Yeah … that's … that's weird.”

 

“Right.” Spike ignored them and pushed up from the back of the bench. “I better go wake him up.” Casually, he walked directly toward the building and slipped between the loose boards. The darkened corridors were littered with debris and dust. It left behind a trail of footprints up the staircase, nowhere else.

 

Orwell clearly wasn't bright enough to consider concealing his location. Then again, the bottom feeder had only been missing a few days. Spike flexed his hands, considering his options. The Jericho in its holster pressed against his back. That would be quick enough. Of course, he knew how he should do it. The man had dared to try and leave. He'd been foolish enough to hole up in the city. He deserved to go out having sense beaten into him rather than a fast execution. That's precisely why the lower ranks never got an official exit ceremony.

 

He sighed as he followed the footprints into a room on the third story. There in the darkness he glimpsed the outline of the disheveled man, passed out with a bottle in his hand. Orwell's gun peeked out from the waistband of his pants. Spike stared with half-lidded eyes down at him. Waiting.

 

It wasn't long before the unfortunate man's eyelids fluttered open, closed. They shot back open as he gasped and tried to roll out of the way.

 

Spike stomped a foot on the arm he had attempted to move to grasp the gun.

 

Orwell screamed and writhed, throwing the bottle in desperation. It soared over Spike's shoulder and smashed into the darkness. “No! No … please! Just let me go! I can't do this anymore!”

 

Despite the flailing arms, Spike reached though the sloppy attempts and seized the man's gun. His foot still pinning Orwell's arm, he casually checked to make sure it was loaded.

 

“I didn't mean to fail! You … you can just tell them I'm dead! Please. I swear I'll run off. No one will see me again.”

 

_Idiot. If I don't finish you then the hit transfers to me. You think I'm about to let that happen?Not hardly._

 

He clicked the safety off and put the muzzle of the gun against the side of Orwell's neck. Each pulse of the man's racing heart transferred through the metal. “PLEASE! I have a family!”

 

Spike's finger paused on the trigger for a moment. The panicked gaze in the man's eyes bore into him. He wasn't that familiar with the man, but he'd only been in for a handful of years. Probably lured by the lucrative deals. Had his pledger known there were ties and ignored it? If so, sloppy.

 

Feeling the hesitation, Orwell gave a nervous grin. “Just … just let me go and I swear there will be no sign of me. No one will ever know.”

 

 _The syndicate finds out everything._ Spike narrowed his eyes. _Not my problem._

 

He squeezed the trigger. The gun kicked like a mule.

 

Spike slid back out onto the street, head bowed with hands in his pockets. Both brothers watched him cross the street from the bench. A splatter of blood across the breast of his trench coat. “Here.” He tossed the blood-slick gun to Lin, who caught it. “Make a delivery for me, will yah.”

 

His steps never faltered as he slouched past them … but inside, Spike trembled, haunted by the man's last desperate stare. Crumpled in his pocket he gripped the photo of a man smiling beside a woman, holding a swaddled baby.

 ***

That night Spike lay in his bed tossing and turning in a fitful sleep. Fat raindrops pelted the windowpane. Halfway on his side he clawed at the pillow.

 

A rustling across the room snapped his eyes open. In one smooth motion he reached under the pillow, seized his gun, swung it in an arc toward the sound, and shot. A shrill scream rent the air. Then … silence.

 

Panting and wide-eyed, Spike stared into the darkness down the sight of the gun. There hadn't been a thud. But there was a scream, but no thud. There should have been a thud! How had someone gotten in here? How had they found him? No one knew! He hadn't called her, he hadn't stopped by after he'd finished. What if that had been the last time he'd walked out her door? His pulse hammered against his eardrums in a frantic cadence. A split second from pulling the trigger a second time, a flash of lightning spilled across the room.

 

The twisted body of an eviscerated rat lay twitching, splattered against the wall in a shallow puddle of blood.

 

Spike rolled his eyes and fell backward, his right hand flopped on his chest still grasping the gun. He shut his eyes and gasped air in and out. Slowly, he ran his left hand through his sweaty hair.

 

“Wrong place, wrong time to let me know I had a roommate, pal!” He opened his eyes and watched the faint shadowed pattern of the falling rain cascade down his walls. He sat up and dismally looked around the apartment. “Shit … this is no way to live.” …

 

It was many hours before dawn, the rain still poured outside when Julia opened her door. Drenched to the bone with a soggy cigarette hanging from his lips, Spike stood with his head bowed in the hall. A duffle bag slung over one shoulder, he held a single long stem rose in one out stretched hand. “Hey, I know I should have called … ”

 

She pushed the door wider and slipped her hands up the side of his neck. Pulling him closer she kissed him on the lips to silence the words she didn't need to hear.

 


	9. Session 9

**SESSION 9**

 

Humming a lilting tune, Julia stood at the stove bathed in the golden rays of late morning.

 

“Is that bacon?” Spike's voice behind her ear made her jump.

 

She turned to find him lingering over her shoulder, his hair just as tussled as always. His eyes stared hungrily at the sizzling bacon in the pan.

 

He reached over her shoulder and pulled her closer. “Although I'd settle for a slice of this.”

 

Julia grinned, kissed him and pushed him back a bit. “I need to turn it over, unless you want ashes for breakfast.”

 

He stretched and yawned. “Wouldn't be the first time that happened.”

 

“Speaking of time, there's plenty for you to take a quick shower.”

 

Leaning against the counter he put on that lazy grin of his. “Didn't I get enough of one walking here last night?”

 

She laughed. “That's not the same thing, Spike.”

 

“I dunno. I could argue that one.” He watched her turning the slices in the pan. Gradually his gaze drifted back up to her. “I … uhh … thank you, for letting me stay here. I can't tell you how much I needed that.”

 

“You're always welcome. Now, do me a favor, make yourself useful and set the table.”

 

He blinked for a moment, looking at the mostly empty surface with a rather lost expression on his face.

 

She pointed at the cupboards. “Everything is right over there.”

 

He opened up one of the doors and stared in unabashed wonderment. “Is this what these are supposed to look like inside? I thought they were just decoration. Whoa!”

 

Throwing a towel at him, she grinned as he barely ducked to get out of the way. “You lunkhead!”

 

Spike chuckled and pulled out a couple of plates and silverware. Walking to the table he remarked, “Say, what was that song you were humming? Could swear that I heard before … like waking up here half dead, maybe?”

 

Blush flared on her cheeks, she glanced over at a small statue with two angel fish swimming in reeds. “It's from the music box. Go ahead, turn it.”

 

Curiously, Spike turned the little lever hidden on the side of it. That same lilting melody began to play on the tin prongs. “Beautiful,” he whispered. “Where did you find this?”

 

Julia distracted herself for a few moments, poking at the bacon. “I didn't.” A tone of pain choked her reply.

 

Spike's arms embraced her shoulders from behind. “What is it? You can tell me.”

 

She turned her head and met his quiet gaze. “It was a gift, a rare one … from Vicious.”

 

“I shouldn't have asked.” He wanted to say more, but an odd vibration across the room snapped his head up. Spike's eyes narrowed accompanied by a sigh. He slipped off, grabbing his phone to take the call. “What now?”

 

“ _You ready for this?”_ Lin replied.

 

“Does it make any difference? I take it since I don't have anything official from overhead at the moment that I'm not going to like it.” Spike scowled heading to the bedroom, he pulled the Jericho out from beneath the pillow.

 

“ _Not likely. It's Vicious.”_

 

He rubbed his eyes, hard. “Great. I knew the fact that he was behaving himself wouldn't last indefinitely. What's he gotten into now?”

 

“ _We've got him cornered. Well, he doesn't know we're out here. But he's inside a private ship right now contracting a deal.”_

 

“Let me guess, Purple Eye and it's not authorized.”

 

“ _Shin saw a glimpse through the window. That's not the color he saw. But it looks to be similar. You may want to get down here quick before he does this deal **his** way.”_

 

Spike hung up and growled. As quickly as he could, he grabbed everything he needed. He hugged Julia tight and mumbled, “Sorry, someone has decided to break the rules. I have to miss breakfast today.”

 

As he withdrew, she pulled on his arm to keep him a moment longer. “Don't worry, I'll keep it warm.”

 

He cocked a grin. “Then you'll burn it. I'll probably be late.”

 

Once more he found she wasn't ready to let him leave. She reached up and held him tight, whispering into his ear, “Baby … come home.”

 

Spike buried his face in her hair. “I will … now that I have one.”

***

In the dim corridors of the ship's cargo bay, Vicious watched as the dealer transferred the vials one by one, counting out as he did so. Behind him, the lab equipment essential for the process of concentrating the drug was spread out on a make-shift lab table. The fool even left the formula visible on his computer screen.

 

Wolffe, one of Vicious's subordinates slipped up beside him and gave a single nod of his head. He held up three fingers then closed them into a zero. In a subtle flick of his eyes, Vicious acknowledged the signal.

 

_Good, not that this man's security was anything but children with sticks. Now that we're alone._ His hand gripped the hilt of his sword and broke it loose.

 

“Sorry, but the deal's off.”

 

Everyone snapped their heads up. The dealer's face turned white, he stumbled back as his wide eyes stared over the buyer's shoulder. Vicious remained still, but Wolffe and three other subordinates turned and pulled their weapons in tandem. They trained them on the trespasser, waiting for the order to fire.

 

“Well.” Vicious's stoic voice cut through the silence. “If it isn't my dutiful watch dog. Long time, no see.”

 

Spike nonchalantly walked through the henchmen, his lazy glare daring them to even consider pulling off a shot. Walking right up to the case he plucked a vial out and studied it, the color wasn't purple, but a burgundy. He flicked out a gauge and rammed the end into it. The meter topped out.

 

The dealer stuttered to Vicious, pointing at Spike, “I thought you said no one was supposed to know about this! Who is this guy?”

 

Vicious ignored the question and addressed Spike smoothly, “This is really none of your business.”

 

“Really? You made it mine when you got sloppy with your connections to foster this little enterprise. And another thing, waltzing around flaunting that officer's coat automatically marks this a syndicate affair. An unauthorized one at that.”

 

“So, you're still bowing to their whim.”

 

“If you mean am I still loyal? You're damn right. Now, get your hand off your blade.” Spike narrowed his eyes. “We both know how this ends if you draw.”

 

“No, we don't, even with you no longer a cripple, Spike. We have never reached the end of anything.” Vicious waved a relaxed hand and his subordinates lowed their arms to their sides, still standing with a coiled tension. “Relax, he's too bound by the rules. This cur can't bite unless he has orders to.”

 

Spike gave a laugh. “Who says I can't?”

 

“Mao Yenrai.” Vicious's gaze pierced into his former partner. “Now, why don't you go find something better to do and leave the serious business of the syndicate's future to those with true vision.”

 

“Asshole.” He snarled coldly just over his breath. “What are playing at? You know decisions of this kind are not ours to make.”

 

“They should be.” Vicious never moved. His eyes simply studied Spike with the bead of a viper waiting for a mouse to twitch. “Those fools are so far above the reality they fail to perceive opportunities. This is a chance to be on the threshold of a new empire. But … you've bowed your head and let them fit you with a choke chain.” He opened one palm, releasing the hilt of his katana. “Slip the collar and I might cut you in on the ground floor.”

 

Spike held up the vial and peered into it. “What the hell is this shit?”

 

“A new concentration. Better. More efficient. Once it gains a reputation, it will fetch ten times the price of Purple Eye. Only the fearless pave the way to the future … over the bones of cowards.”

 

“Heh.” Spike smirked at the men surrounding Vicious. “Trying your hand at the long game? Well, think again. The Van would end this before the first transaction. It takes more than a handful of turncoats to start running.”

 

“Like … all the subordinates that blindly idolize you?” His lip curled up a touch. “They would follow you.”

 

Spike dropped the vial into the case and slammed it shut. “No they won't. They'd know they are dead-men if they do.”

 

“That little rule. You slaughter men for a living. Since when did _you_ get squeamish about the death penalty of defection?”

 

“That's enough.” Spike turned to the dealer and locked eyes with him. “This is over, here and now.”

 

The dealer's hands shot up under the assault of the glare. “I thought this was legit … I'd finally struck it … he is a Red Dragon … right?”

 

“Yeah. He is. But you picked the wrong one for a business venture, pal. Get this crap out of the city by tonight or else.”

 

“Or else what?” The dealer had a moment of bravado.

 

It didn't last long. Spike pulled out the Jericho. He hardly even glanced before he fired a shot over the man's shoulder. The glass condenser unit exploded, the vibrations cracking and demolishing most of the equipment on the counter in a shower of colorful liquid and shards.

 

“NOOOO!” He fell to his knees, tears in his eyes.

 

Spike tapped his finger on the trigger. “Next time I aim for something that can't be replaced.” He left the man sobbing into his hands and flicked the gun at Vicious. “Out. Now.”

 

Vicious eyed him and whispered, “It's rather telling how tame they have gotten, Spike. After all these years they still consider a pathetic shark plucked from a backwater pond equal to a blooded master. You don't command me. You  _never_ will.” He turned and swept out through the darkened door. His subordinates casting Spike a doubtful glance before edging out behind their boss.

 

“Bastard.” Spike growled.

***

Wolffe strode into the gilded room. The shadow stretching across the floor beckoned him. Vicious stood at the window as the city passed below his brooding gaze. A glass of vodka in his hand, untouched.

 

“Sir. I have news you may want to hear about that troublesome upstart.”

 

Vicious didn't move. “And?”

 

“He's been seen with company. Not his subordinates. But a woman.”

 

“Julia.” The name slid off his tongue.

 

Wolffe blinked. “Yes. But, how did you know?”

 

A moment later, a familiar voice carried out of a speaker on Vicious's desk.  _“On my way back I picked up a little something for you, sweetheart.”_

 

“ _Oh, Spike! Roses! They're beautiful. Is that a dozen?”_

 

“ _One wasn't enough … they reminded me of you. Such soft, deep beauty … with thorns enough to protect herself … Hey … Can I brea … mmmm.”_

 

Vicious smiled.

 


	10. Session 10

**SESSION 10**

 

“Spike?”

 

“Mmmm?” He sat smoking at her kitchen table with the Jericho broken down before him. A bottle of oil and a smudged cloth within easy reach.

 

“You've been here two months now.” She leaned over the back of the chair on the opposite side of the table trying to coax him to look up. “Can we ever sleep alone?”

 

Spike fought back a laugh unsuccessfully. He cooed to the grip of the disassembled gun. “Aww, will you listen to that? Julia is jealous of us.”

 

“Spike! I'm being serious.” She placed a hand on her hip. “What if you pulled the trigger and shot yourself?”

 

He held up the gun and pointed. “That's what the safety lock is for.”

 

With a sigh, she slid down into the chair. “Please.”

 

His head bowed over his working fingers, Spike glanced up at her. “That's not something I can just stop doing.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“I'll give you the best reason, because of what I do for a living.” His voice bore little emotion, the chased topic having pressed him out of the previous easy-going mindset he'd happily burrowed into the past weeks.

 

Julia watched him. Something deeper was wrong, it had nothing to do with her request. Spike usually performed maintenance on his gun in no time at all. Today he senselessly repeated steps, clearly preoccupied. She reached out and touched the back of his hand. He paused, but didn't look up as she asked, “What is it?”

 

He closed his eyes and set the piece down. “Nothing.” But she squeezed his hand. “I don't want to make you uncomfortable.”

 

Studying him, she waited.

 

The tension built before he slouched forward raising one hand to catch his head. “It's Vicious. I can't make sense of it. Most of the time he's quiet, looking like he's back to following orders. And then, out of the blue he darts into some strange event with no rhyme or reason. I can't work it out. I arrive to stop him and he just … moves off like it was his business.”

 

“How much longer do you have to do this?”

 

Spike flipped his free hand. “I have no idea, and Mao doesn't dare ask a third time. I just have to ride this out. If I don't go crazy in the process.”

 

She grasped his hand. “What happened between you two? Years ago you were practically attached at the hip.”

 

His eyes grew distant, he shook his head. “I honestly don't completely know. After the Van gave Mao orders to split us up and promote us to seniors with teams of own to command, I was so busy running my orders I barely saw Vicious anymore. Frankly, Mao was thrilled over the arrangement. It was a testament to his leadership that he was allowed two more officers without the loss of even one. Anyway, the few times I glimpsed Vicious in passing he refused to even look at me. But I swore … he looked … bored. I couldn't imagine being bored! After all I was constantly in motion. When I asked Mao if he knew, that was when I discovered that for some reason the challenge of the prestigious hits were all funneling to my team—and it wasn't Mao's doing. He had his own orders from above. Well, you know Vicious.”

 

“He would have hated that.” She nodded slowly.

 

“I had no idea that was happening. Figured we were both getting our metal tested. Turns out I was wrong. Not that I wanted that. I would gladly have handed off some of the wet work for a chance to breathe.” He hung his head. “Julia, I don't even want to consider taking over for Mao. I'm not ready for him to die for that. Growing up in that pool hall all I ever wanted was to feel like I had a purpose, a sense of loyalty. I have that where I am. I don't need anything more. But if Vicious keeps playing his game he's going to get us both killed, possibly Mao too. It doesn't make sense. He's not surrendering. I know that's not what it is, so what is he doing?”

 

Julia leaned forward in the chair. “How do you know for sure?”

 

Spike heaved a sigh and rubbed the back of his neck. “Cause he's never surrendered in his life, Julia. I've seen him tested, just as he saw me. I've known Vicious since living at Mao's. I wasn't his only protege. Vicious had been there for many years under Leonard's tutelage. He made Vicious and I sparring partners as I was the only other student of his able to counter his attacks. Hours on end we sparred. It wasn't enough. Leonard let me leave the training room while Vicious remained to keep refining. Well, one day Leonard locked us alone in the room together on the promise that the door only opened when one of us surrendered to the other.”

 

She waited in the long silence before gently prodding. “Who won?”

 

“It was a stalemate.” Spike's heavy gaze stared at the table. “Hours after it began, Leonard opened the door and dragged us out. Dehydrated, battered, and barely standing—neither of us had yielded. You know that saying about objects? Apparently I'm the immovable object, he's the unstoppable force. It didn't matter how many times he repeated the test. The results were always the same. Though we fought with different techniques, Vicious and I were too evenly matched, too unwilling to surrender. That simple bond gave us an edge on the street. We knew that no matter how bad things got, neither of us would ever surrender to an opponent. That's why Mao utilized us as a team. I don't think it mattered to Vicious that he was sharing the glory with a no-body — until after the split.”

 

“He's not any better than you are, Spike.”

 

Spike huffed a breath. “I don't pretend to be something I'm not, Julia. If there's even a drop of legit syndicate blood running in my veins, even that is dilute. That's not the case with Vicious.”

 

“What?” She sat up a little straighter.

 

Spike's eyes widened. “He didn't tell you?” When she shook her head, he cupped his head. “Shit. I thought you knew. I shouldn't have said anything. I'm not supposed to know.” He sighed. “I should have been in the training room instead of eavesdropping when Mao had a visit from his mother wondering how things were going. They were friends, Mao and Vicious's mother. Turns out she left him in Mao's care after his own father refused to acknowledge his bastard. She wanted a future for him, and Mao had the resources to provide one. The only condition was that Vicious couldn't live under his own father's name.”

 

“Why? If he didn't care … Who is he?”

 

“I know, but I won't tell you that much.” Spike's eyes met hers, his voice leaden. “His father is a syndicate capo. If he finds out Vicious is _his_ and in the ranks, he'll probably rip his son to shreds to bury the evidence of an illegitimate son. As much as Vicious is stirring up trouble, Mao still holds the sacred bond of the pledge. The same pledge he made for me.”

 

She stood up and came around behind Spike, rubbing his shoulders around the folded up shirt collar. “It doesn't matter what he has in his blood. Blood is blood.”

 

Spike shook his head. “I don't care. I learned the worth of blood when I dealt with the shock of my life standing in the rubble of my house in that shithole of a crater of I was born in. Things like that happened every other day there, so I wasn't even unprepared for that fate. Growing up without your parents was common place enough in those slums … well, it's not the same as being rejected by one out of blood.”

 

“The Van is recognizing _your_ talent. There are subordinates begging to run on your team. That says a lot. Coming from a syndicate line doesn't mean a damn thing.”

 

He was knotted up, tense and unyielding beneath her fingers. “I wish Vicious would see it that way. But I doubt he will ever find the ability to overlook the decision that has always been beyond his control.” His head lowered. “And that's the part that troubles me. Vicious doesn't allow anything to exist beyond his control for long. This has already carried on for months.”

***

A few days later, Spike walked through the door and pealed off his sodden jacket. “Gotten to like this one. Hope the washer is empty or this stain might set. Hey Honey, what do you usually use for blood stains?”

 

There wasn't a reply.

 

He peered around the corner of the laundry room to see Julia bending over the coffee table drowned in books and papers. Leaning over from behind the couch he narrowed his eyes at the legalese lingo. “Hardcopies? People still look at that? How does that stuff not give you a headache?”

 

“Not now, Spike.” She muttered, flipping through a tome.

 

“What's the—”

 

“Spike, shut up! I'm in the middle of something.”

 

“Ok, ok.” He held up his hands. “I got it. Leave you to your searching. I'll just go and get cleaned up before dinner, aright?”

 

She flopped her head forward. “I forgot. I can't believe I forgot to start something.”

 

He swung around and knelt before her, running a hand through her curls and letting them spring. “Easy there, Tigerlily. It's no big deal. After a quick shower I can go get something. I'd offer to cook, but I think you want your apartment building still standing, right? If it's this important … ”

 

She returned the gesture, running a hand through his hair. A cloud of dust rose up from it. “Elliot got snagged. The division that has him isn't on our payroll. We have to actually work the case this time Spike, or he gets shipped to Pluto's prison colony.”

 

“Elliot?” He squinted. “Oh wait a minute, Hackjob Elliot the guy who pulled off that spectacular extortion from the Mar's government?”

 

“That's the one. We have to get him back.” Her eyelids shut. “It looks like it will take a few weeks at the least. Spike, I'm sorry.”

 

“I could probably spring him with a bit of C-4.” When she frowned at him, he pecked her on the lips and grinned. “Not every bomb I make actually brings the house down. But, if anyone can do it, you will. Show your uncle the worth of that degree, Honey. I'll be in the shower shedding the evidence of my last job so you guys don't have to bury it.”

 

 


	11. Session 11

**SESSION 11**

 

The Bullseye Bar was packed more than typical. Julia sat on the stool, trying to keep her elbows in against the bumping of all the corporate attired company. Her forced smile faded a bit as she looked up at the clock.

 

Maggie sidled up and tapped her on the shoulder. “Sooo, where's this boyfriend of yours? You said he was coming and we'd get a chance to meet Mr. Mysterious.”

 

Julia looked down at the bar counter. “He'll be here … sometimes things just get late for him. I'm sure it was just a last minute job.” _He'll be here any minute, right?_ The entire office was here celebrating, toasting the hour with a freed Elliot who was sitting at the bar drinking like a fish. Three weeks of grinding every loophole to its nth degree earned them this party. All the while Spike had been called away on a number of haphazard jobs, some of which she knew weren't official. Spike had always left the room for those calls, and always come home brooding. These last few days had been quiet. It had been a matter of time. His message had arrived a couple of hours ago: _Duty calls. I'll be late._

 

“Well, look who is here all alone. The woman of the hour.” Alexander from the office leaned on her shoulder, taking the vacant stool beside her. Julia blushed and rolled her shoulder away from him. “So, this uhh 'boyfriend' of yours has left you out to dry. Well, you know, there are more reliable fellows.” He winked at her and pulled out his sunglasses despite the darkened setting. “Whatdaya say you give ol' Alexander a spin around the block? Beep beep.” He pretended to honk a horn.

 

Julia turned and smirked at him. She was about to reply when a shadow fell over the distracted Alexander.

 

“Well, **I** would say that the lady isn't into driving cheap kit cars, she's more into true classics.”

 

Alexander turned and pulled the sunglasses down on his nose, looking up from behind the lenses into Spike's smuggest smile. He'd come in jeans, a hunter green t-shirt with an open vest and his leather jacket. For once, he wasn't covered in the evidence of his work. No wonder it had taken him longer.

 

“Hey.” Spike inclined his chin. “Why don't you go try that pickup on someone a bit more naive.”

 

Emboldened by the alcohol, Alexander puffed up. “Oh yeah? Well Julia happens to be my co-worker. Just who do you think you are, buddy? I could snap you like a twig.”

 

Spike rolled his eyes. Off to his left out in the crowd Elliot shoved his way through excitedly. “Spike? Spike Spiegel? No way!”

 

That wrinkled Alexander's nose a bit, but the name didn't sink in with him. However, a number of the fellow suits blanched and hauled him from the stool, clamping his mouth shut.

 

Elliot extended a hand to Spike, “Wow! An honor meeting a real legend, the syndicate's Hellhound.”

 

Spike half lidded his eyes and slouched backwards against the bar. “Been awhile since I heard _that_ nickname. By the way, congrats on getting collared.”

 

He flipped a dismissive hand. “Ahhh, you should come by their firm more often. There's betting pools about how long it takes for the Hellhound to get collared by the I.S.S.P.”

 

Casting Julia a curious gaze, he smirked at Elliot. “Anyone got 'never' covered? Hey, do you mind? I'm a bit parched after a job.”

 

“You offed someone? Today?”

 

Spike nodded.

 

“Daaaaaammmn! That's nothing like what I do.”

 

“You're right. I don't leave a trial behind, Hack-job.” Spike turned just as the hacker flushed with pride at his nickname. He flagged the barkeep down and ordered a bourbon to get things started. He was about to chat with Julia when he turned to see the suits staring back and forth between them.

 

One blurted out. “Julia, your boyfriend is the syndicate Hellhound?”

 

She swung around on the stool and rested her head on his shoulder. Spike gave a crooked grin and draped an arm over her shoulder. “Yeah? What of it?” He lifted his chin.

 

They looked to her and the babbling began. “You're such a tame girl.” “What happened to that other one? The quiet one?” “Are you nuts?”

 

“Hey!” Spike barked, “I can hear you, you know!”

 

“Did he force you at gunpoint?”

 

Julia smiled and laughed. “No. I asked him.”

 

All their jaws fell open, which made Spike burst into laughter himself. The group took a step back like a flock of frightened sheep. After he took a swig of his bourbon he leaned over and gave her a kiss which she sank into. His eyes softened, “Hey, sorry I ran late. It's not easy to finish a hit without getting dirty. I had to figure out how.”

 

Julia eyed him. “I'm curious, how did you manage that?”

 

Pulling out a cigarette, he lit it with a sly grin. “The element of surprise and gravity. Anyway, so these are your co-workers, huh? They're kinda stiff.”

 

She looked at the rigid staff still gawking rudely. “They'll warm up, Spike. Give them a few minutes. Perhaps use a little of your charms?”

 

He flashed a toothy grin. “So, who knows how much force it takes to shove the nasal cartilage up into the brain with an open handed upper cut?”

 

THUD! One of her associates hit the floor.

 

Julia rapped his shoulder, “Spike!”

 

He chuckled. “Fine, why don't we discuss the finer elements of law … or whatever.”

 

It took about a half hour, but soon enough Spike was animatedly chatting with the members of the firm. He engaged in drinking games, tossing darts, and at length even shooting pool—to the loss of one firm member's bonus. Julia reveled in the evening. No longer was he some rumored connection she had. Tonight she had proven her relationship was real, and the identity she had dared not share because his reputation was known to them. They would have found it laughable. In the face of it, they had been beyond shocked. And that had been worth it!

 

Hanging back by the bar, waiting for a refill of their drinks, she felt the blush rise to her cheeks as she watched Spike teaching a few trick shots to her gawking co-workers. Her uncle Skylar stood at her side and cleared his throat. She looked up to find his eyes locked on Spike in concern.

 

“You were always such a logical girl, Julia. What were you thinking?”

 

She rubbed the back of her hand. “It's complicated.”

 

He locked his eyes on her. “More than you know. You're being foolish getting close to someone like him.”

 

“Please. I'm not a little girl anymore, Uncle. Didn't I prove that in court?”

 

“Yes. But not in matters of the heart.” He shook his head. “I don't want to see you get hurt. I may not know him personally, but the syndicate sends over lists detailing individual's work so we can be prepared if they do get collared. I have never seen a list of hits as long as his. You have no idea what you're getting involved in.” When she tried to protest, he held up a hand. “Just listen. People like him don't get married, sweetie. And when they do, their lives often end shortly and violently after. They live by a razor's edge. Relationships blunt that vital edge. Soon they topple through the cracks.”

 

“You don't know Spike! He's got remarkable balance.”

 

“Julia, that's not it.” Skylar narrowed his eyes. “I've seen the bill for that eye of his. That was an investment in a _very_ valuable asset. The syndicate footed that bill for a reason. At the rank he'd been at that time usually they leave the expense up to the patient to cover it. Spike would have been left without options. He would have been half blind. They clearly saw vast potential in him and they will allow nothing to compromise their plans.”

 

“What plans?” She demanded with a fist. “What do you know?”

 

He held his arms wide. “I can't be sure, sweetie. But generally men like him are molded into a mind with one purpose, sacrificing themselves in an act of loyalty for the syndicate. I have seen this before, that's why I tried to give you distance from that other one you got mixed up with, Vicious. When you broke that off I'd thought you'd seen they won't have time for you. I'm just trying to warn you before you get hurt.”

 

“I appreciate that you have given me a living. Perhaps I understand investments a little more than you think. But you do not control my life.” She pointed towards Spike. “And what about him? I don't want to hurt him. He needs me, Uncle. And I need him. I love him.”

 

His eyes half closed. “Then you better hope he is as clever as the Van thinks he is. And you are strong enough to endure his loss.” He kissed her forehead.

 

Taking the drinks from the counter, she hastened over to Spike trying to shake off the warning from her uncle. For a while, Spike continued the charade, but the moment he found a natural opening he guided her away from the group. “You ok? You were upset earlier with your uncle.”

 

She looked at the floor. “You noticed?”

 

“It's what I do, you know, read people without them noticing.”

 

“It was just … work stuff.”

 

Spike cocked his head and after a moment wrapped his arm around her, holding her close. “That I understand. Everything's gonna be alright. Now, come on and give me a smile. That's better. We can talk later if you need to.”

 

She nodded.

 

He flashed her a warm grin. “Hey, you listened to me when I talked your ear off. How about you let me return that favor, kay?”

***

In the morning Julia stirred beneath the covers, her eyes fluttered open to the sight of Spike still out cold beside her. A slight bruising showed on his knuckles loosely grasping the blanket. A relaxed smile played on his face. It was so nice to see him there, a treat she didn't always get to enjoy. So often he would be gone before she woke.

 

Leaning up on one elbow she edged over preparing to kiss him. The glint of morning light off metal caught her attention. On the chair across the room, tangled in his discarded clothes from the night before, she gazed at the gun holster … the Jericho still tucked inside it.

 

She smiled down at him remembering his words the first night he stayed. _Finally, he feels safe enough to let his guard down._

 

The smile was short lived. She looked once more at the gun and swallowed. … _They live by a razor's edge. Relationships blunt that vital edge. Soon they topple through the cracks. …_

 

Lying across his chest, she fought the tears that threatened to come as she listened to his sleeping heartbeat. Like the tick of a clock … or a time bomb.

 


	12. Session 12

**SESSION 12**

 

Mao shut the door behind him, each footstep on the stairs echoed as he dropped down to the nearest landing. With Spike's hands in his officer's coat he stared blankly, watching his mentor's unreadable face as he approached.

 

The silence continued unbroken as they walked down the next flight of the stairs in the open marble of the decorative casing. Mao glanced up at him. “You presented yourself well, Spike. I was relieved to see you showing acknowledgment of the all ceremony this time. Thank you for demonstrating to the guard you were disarming yourself before entering. They were watching!”

 

Spike nodded slowly, a hopeful expression on his face.

 

Mao tugged on his cuff, his eyes lowered to the floor taking Spike's hopes with it. “I did not ask, but they reminded me of your duty. I am sorry. I wish I had better news.”

 

Spike heaved a sigh. “I don't blame you, Mao. How could I, you've given me everything.”

 

Pausing for a moment, he leaned in close and whispered, “I know this has been hard for you. But thank you for respecting my request. I can only hope that if you can purchase enough time, Vicious will come around.”

 

“I hope you're right.” Spike murmured and dropped down the rest of the stairs, his shoulders slumped forward.

***

 

“Are your orders clear?” Vicious gazed through the strands of white hair hanging over his forehead. Leaning back in the chair, he had one knee over the other. Dozens of men gathered in the room on the other side, their attire ranged from syndicate suit to street clothes thug. Their expressions were awash with everything from confusion to all out shock.

 

At last one of the lessers lowered his hand, no longer staring at the little screen with his orders. “Sir, we'll basically be running all-out-rogue, against the will of the syndicate if we do this. Won't that attract the Hellhound's attention?”

 

Vicious narrowed his eyes at the ridiculous nickname before he nodded. “I am counting on that. Through Wolffe's rather tame baiting we have already gotten his attention. Some of Spike's men have been on constant surveillance, stretching his resources.” He templed his fingers. “The Van idolize him, but they fail to see what he is made of. I intend to divide his attention so extremely by casting you all in different directions that the whole of the syndicate will glimpse his visceral essence.”

 

“But … but what if he takes us out, Sir? I'm not so certain I want to die a traitor.”

 

Wolffe's glare sent the outspoken lesser quailing.

 

“He won't.” Vicious stood. “Wolffe proved the extent that fool will go to when he witnessed Spike covering up the evidence of what he failed to prevent. If any of you go missing, then he will have to answer to the Van. He won't risk looking like a failure, a demonstration he has repeated in reporting nothing we have done. You have little to fear with his precious honor on the line. Keep to the timeline over the next months. I want everything in order for the final plan.”

 

More than a few heads snapped up in confusion.

 

“By then,” Vicious continued, “we will need him fully in our grasp. I will not allow him to spoil the surprise. Dismissed.”

 

The men left the room in silence. Wolffe quietly came to the desk and bowed his head. “This is a long shot.”

 

“On the contrary.” Vicious straightened the braid on his officer's coat. “This is a precision strike.”

***

Julia's hands brushed down the lapel as she gazed into her full length mirror. “It's the perfect fit.” She smiled at Spike's appraising reflection over her shoulder.

 

His arm rested on her shoulder, he pulled her closer for a quick kiss. “I was hoping you'd like it. They say black goes with everything. And since it's been raining a lot, well, I know how nice my own trench coat is for that.”

 

She giggled, glancing at his own flung over the couch. “We can be a matching pair, except yours is tan.” Julia spun around, letting her new coat flare out, the golden curls spun in the afternoon light. When she stopped she tugged on Spike's thin black tie. “Come on, you're dressed up and clean for once. Let's go out on the town. Somewhere. Anywhere!”

 

He laughed and flung his arms a bit wide, gesturing at the indigo blue leisure suit he wore. “This is dressed up? It's not even my best jacket.”

 

“For you, baby, this is polished.” She eyed his jacket, a deep double breasted design with two clasps holding it far on his right side. It left a wide lapel of lighter blue spilling down the other side. The deviation into asymmetry was an amusing choice for Spike, a man she new to be obsessive about balance. “Besides, I love this one. Blue is a nice color for you.”

 

In an embarrassed silence, Spike picked up his trench coat and tucked the Jericho into the holster.

 

Julia pulled open a drawer and took her Ruger. She tucked it into one of the inside pockets.

 

Spike whistled. “You lookin' to paint the town red? It's a little bit early in the day for that. And I don't know if I can hang out with a dangerous girl like you. Might tarnish my reputation.”

 

Glancing over her shoulder, Julia threw him an mocking icy glare.

 

He opened the door and held it for her. They walked along without saying another word, comfortable simply wandering the streets. Julia leaned closer and rested her head on Spike's shoulder. He draped an arm over her shoulder and savored the contact. The streets were blessedly quiet.

 

Down near a park Spike hopped up onto a narrow railing and walked along it with his hands in his pockets. Julia grinned up at him from the sidewalk. “You're going to fall if you keep that up.”

 

“Eh, I could do this with my eyes closed. Watch.” Shutting his eyes, he slowed his pace only a touch. “See? Easy as … ” His phrase was cut short by the vibration of his phone. He opened his eyes with a weary scowl and reached into his jacket.

 

Suddenly his objective changed. Spike's head snapped up, his eyes wide. He reached down, grabbed Julia and flung backwards off the railing, rolling with her into the grass. A moment later a speeding car broadsided the railing, flattening it in the process. Spike shot to his feet. “Wait a minute … Wolffe? What the …?”

 

He knelt down and grasped her elbows. “Are you alright?” She nodded shakily, he hugged her tight. “Go home, right now. Run there! Lock the door!” He spun and went to dash away.

 

She held onto his wrist, and pleaded with him, “Baby! Come home!”

 

Hastily he brushed a finger on her jaw. “I will.”

 

He took to flight, racing after the car. It wasn't hard to follow given the course of debris left behind. His phone vibrated again. “Alright! What the hell is going on?” He snapped into it.

 

Shin answered, _“Not sure, but we were on Wolffe's tail. He shook us off, Spike. Trying to reroute others to intercept. He stole a car.”_

 

“A late model silver roadster!” Spike huffed as he slid around a corner, almost bringing his knee down in the process.

 

“ _Yeah, how did you know?”_

 

“Intuition. You want the license plate number?”

 

“ _You saw him?”_

 

“He almost ran me over! I thought you had guys watching them!”

 

“ _We have … but nothing was happening.”_

 

Spike snorted and vaulted over a car crash, breaking through the smoke. The silver roadster had been t-boned on the other side. Vials of the new drug lay shattered all over the street, dying it red. Wolffe was nowhere to be seen down any line of sight he had. “Shit!” Spike kicked the car and the radiator burst into a jet of loud steam.

 

“ _Did we loose him?”_

 

He slid down beside the car and grumbled. “Yeah. Get your asses over here. I don't want to have to explain this before I figure out what just happened.” …

 

The un-abating storm rolled in with that savage first blow. From that moment onward, Spike's finger scrambled for a pulse he could never hope to find. Between covering his official hits, he was bombarded with an erratic string of reports of activity veering further off the map. In some cases he was forced to take the  _Swordfish_ to another city entirely to intercept a deal or rogue hit by one of Vicious's cronies. At first they were able to keep tabs on most of it, intercepting and stopping the majority of the events. But as the months dragged on, keeping up proved humanly impossible. Spike felt more like a janitor, cleaning up the evidence so no one else would ever catch word of it.

 

Witnessing the turbulence Julia suffered the effects, powerless every time Spike staggered in the door and tried to scrape a few hours of rest before something called him away. He hadn't smiled in weeks by the day he collapsed into her arms. Julia dragged his limp body to the bed and tucked him in.

 

Leaning over him, she rested the back of her hand against his forehead. He stirred, his eyelids fluttered open. “Just making sure you weren't ill. You look terrible, Spike.”

 

He mumbled something and rolled onto his side, his arm trailing to the floor limply.

 

Reaching into his shirt, she started to rub his shoulder. The muscles were warm, swollen from overuse. His body was literally being shredded by the pressure. By some miracle he had only taken a few small pieces of shrapnel lately. No serious injuries. “Honey, you can't keep this up.”

 

He heaved a long sigh. “And I can't stop. So please … stop arguing about it and let me get a few hours of sleep before I'm out running again.”

 

“This is killing you.”

 

He rolled his bleary gaze up to her, black bags underneath both eyes. “Julia … don't tease an exhausted man. You know why I have to go, each and every time. The Van still believe Vicious is behaving himself. My life depends on that belief.”

 

She leaned down and kissed the back of his neck. He barely reacted to her caress. His eyes already shutting. Julia pulled the blanket up over him and watched his chest rise and fall in a deep sleep. How long before that damn little piece of tech beckoned him?

 

She glared at the phone that had tumbled to the floor from his pocket, her fingers longed to pry the battery out. Just give him one solid night's sleep this month. He needed that so desperately.

 

She picked it up off the floor and flipped it over. Her gaze drifted back to him. If he failed to respond … he already looked dead beneath the covers. Her eyes drifted to the dress she had picked out for the plans they had previously made for the evening. So much for their fancy dinner. Spike would be fortunate to wake up long enough to eat at all. Leaning in close she kissed him on the cheek. “Happy birthday, Spike.”

 

With a somber smile, she took his phone out to the kitchen table and pulled the battery out. “They can't call you now, at least for tonight. And what would you do if they did? Stumble out the door? Someone has to look out for you.”

 


	13. Session 13

**SESSION 13**

 

“Sir, I had orders to tell you when everything was in place.” Wolffe stood firmly at attention in Vicious's office, at last breaking a long drown out silence.

 

At the desk, Vicious stared at the silent speaker, his eyes flicking to a frayed photograph beside it. A teenage version of himself stared out of the past with his customary sullen expression under his cropped white hair. He wore a suit with a sweater vest and a tie. Leaning against his shoulder was a boy the same age with vibrant eyes and a smug grin plastered on his face. There was nothing formal about his attire. A loose shirt and jeans with a shabby leather jacket, sleeves shoved up to elbows. An untidy mess of dark green hair topped it all off. Anyone seeing him on the street would have thought him nothing but a slouching fool.

 

“Excellent. There have been no delays in my plans. Be ready to move when the target approaches.” Vicious slid his gaze to Wolffe. “And I trust you to remember _your_ orders.”

 

He nodded stiffly. “I got it, but I don't understand why … ”

 

“You will.” Vicious looked back down at the picture, his lip curled into a slight snarl.

 

“Sir. If I could ask, there were easier ways to handle him. Like a sniper shot, or even a bomb. Why all this?”

 

Vicious narrowed his eyes. “Men will cling to an illusion in the belief that it is something greater. Dazzled by legend they will follow without seeing what lies inside. They need proof of inadequacy, which I will provide. It is difficult to maintain balance when the pedestal is falling from beneath.”

 

Wolffe threw him a perplexed look.

 

“How many of those who back him have the your men turned?”

 

“Not many. Their loyalty runs deep”

 

“Well shall soon see.”

 

Wolffe's glance took in the photo before drifting to the service medal for valor in the civil war on Titan. “Did you both serve in the war?”

 

Vicious rose from his desk and turned to look out the window. “That child would have been destroyed in the midst of true war. He believes he has proven himself here.” _He knows_ _ **nothing**_ _of risking it all. All for nothing! The Van are foolish corpses. That I should have chased a mark all the way to Titan, faked my record to skip training, and marched with a squad for over a year to get close. And yet I returned to nothing more than a nod of approval, only to be ordered to resume an equal partnership with that piece of gutter trash._

 

The silence stretched on for far too long. Vicious turned to find Wolffe watching him. “Have everyone ready. When we move, it will be swift.”

 

“Sir.” Wolffe offered a salute and left.

***

Julia sat up in bed. Beside her, Spike still lay out cold despite the pounding on the door. She leapt out of bed, wrapped a robe around herself and ran to the door. She turned the knob, the door immediately swung inward as two men barged in.

 

“Alright, where is Spike?” Lin barked. The moment Julia gasped he glared at Shin. “See? I told you he would be here, with her! Next time listen to me.”

 

Shin glanced around, finding bits and pieces of Spike's gear lying about the apartment. “Yeah, he's been here alright. Please, where is he?”

 

Julia held her hand up trying to hush them. “For heaven's sake, he's in desperate need of sleep. Let him!”

 

Lin's eyes widened as he gazed into the kitchen. He stormed across the floor and picked up the phone's battery. “Did you do this? Are you trying to get him killed?”

 

“No! I'm trying to protect him.” She backed toward the slightly open bedroom door. “Whatever it is, it will have to wait.”

 

Shin shook his head. “This can't. We have to talk to him, now. Technically, we may already be too late.”

 

“What … is it?” Spike's weary voice broke from the door. He leaned against the frame rubbing his eyes.

 

Immediately Lin snapped to attention. “We have an emergency on our hands. You know that there is a capo visiting from the asteroid territories.”

 

Spike nodded his head with a shrug. “Yeah, I knew Basilisk was coming. Word is he wanted to talk to the Van about some new contraband showing up in his area. He's here until tomorrow. What about it?”

 

Lin tightened his hand as his brother came up beside him. They exchanged a worried glance. “Well, I'll give you one guess who spent the afternoon pulling up the schematics for the safe house he's staying in.”

 

It took a full second. But if someone had doused Spike in a bucket of ice cold water the result would have been milder. He shot free of the frame on a straight dash to the door.

 

Julia grabbed his arm and yanked him to the floor in her embrace. “Spike! Don't go! Leave this to them.”

 

He shuddered, trying to break free from her. “You promised me you'd never do this, Julia. Not now. Don't do this to me now! You knew the risks.”

 

“Please.” She clung to him. “You could die.”

 

He cupped her neck and pulled her head back. “If I don't go, I **will** die.”

 

Tears trembled in her eyes. She reached up and brushed his cheek. “Baby, … come home.”

 

He slipped from her grasp unable to met her eyes as he shakily stood back up. Hastily he collected a few things and dashed out the door with Lin and Shin in tow. “I need you two to call out the whole team. Surround the house, if they show up, get them away from the place. I aim to stop this before anything starts. Leave Vicious to me.”

 

Shin blinked as he watched Spike load a strange cartridge into a sawed off shotgun. “What is that?”

 

“Persuasion.” Spike replied still shaking off his fatigue. “I may not be allowed to kill him. But that doesn't mean I can't shoot him. See you there!”

 

***

Vicious stalked through the shadows, his hands on his katana hilt as he approached the safe house from an alley. He could hear his men already engaged in a wild foray, Wolffe's commands cut over the din. So, Spike's team had arrived to spoil the party. There was no hurry to his steps. He had plenty of time to finish this.

 

The crunch of gravel caught his attention.

 

Vicious froze.

 

In a single motion he spun, drawing the sword. He came around in time to see Spike staring down the barrel of the shotgun aimed right at him.

 

BLAM!

 

Then, everything went black …

 

The world swam back slowly. Vicious opened his eyes and wondered for a moment if they were still closed. A faint light hung overhead. Not far from him he traced the familiar outline. The red bloom at the end of the cigarette commanding his fogged thoughts. A body stretched across the doorway of a room too small to stand up in.

 

Spike flicked a small flagged dart at Vicious's feet.

 

Dragging himself into a seated position, Vicious picked it up and stared at it. “Tranquilizer.”

 

Spike leveled his Jericho and glared. “Don't make me regret not using this. You're staying here, Vicious.”

 

He huffed a breath, rubbing his shoulder where the dart had left a puncture. “Here? This old shithole is still standing?”

 

Spike nodded, his cold eyes not daring to look away. The edges of his lids curled with fury, but the embers inside told Vicious everything … exhaustion. “You can leave in ten hours, once your father is safely off the planet.” Spike's glare intensified. “I know what you were planning and it's not going to happen.”

 

“Ten hours?” He shifted, reaching back to find his katana missing.

 

Spike flashed him the hilt, lying out of reach on the other side of his body. “Don't complain about the accommodations. This was the best I could do in a pinch.”

 

Leaning back against the wall, Vicious leveled his sullen gaze at Spike. “This place … I swear I can still smell your blood.”

 

“Heh. You were bleeding too. I seem to recall frantically digging a shot out of you.” Spike pulled the spent cigarette and flicked it, lighting another in its place. “Such a great comrade you were. I should have known back then when you didn't return the favor.” He clicked the lighter shut and pocketed it. “Shit, you didn't even have to rip any clothing. Could have used that damn silk scarf you wore, or your tie as a tourniquet. But did you? No. You just sat right here and watched as the hours ticked by. Until the coast was clear.”

 

“Comrades bleed in war.”

 

“This isn't war, Vicious!” Spike bristled. “Damn it, you darted off on that crazy glory hunt to Titan, convincing Elliot to hack you into the army records. Yeah, don't even flick a bit of surprise. I know you paid him to keep that under the table. Then off to unrestrained slaughter on a bloody battlefield while chasing your target. I would have thought that there you could satisfy your need to shed senseless blood. You would come back and things would be different.” He shook his head stiffly. “Oh was I right. They were different. Before you would have at least paused before throwing a comrade to his death. The day you almost let me bleed out should have told me … but I didn't want to see that in you!”

 

Vicious barely moved. “A man like you never would have survived setting foot on Titan.”

 

Dryly, Spike snorted, “I was wise enough to avoid the madness of that hellhole. I heard enough of what was going on there. I had no desire to see it for myself.” His head lowered a notch.

 

Even in the dim light, a gleam shown in Vicious's gaze. A slight curl edged his lips. “Sometimes I can still hear the report of my rifle.”

 

Spike eyed him sideways with a dark scowl. “You got a serious problem, partner.”

 

In the silence, Vicious leaned against the brick wall. Spike's eyes grew more distant, the lids heavier as he rested his chin on one knee. “Tell me, Spike … as we sit here in your blind obedience, what is your end goal for this?”

 

“Huh?”

 

“What will you gain through this action?” Vicious laid a hand on his own knee, his other formed a tight fist. “Will this be another example similar to what the Van did to me? Go the extra distance for nothing more than a pat on the back?”

 

Spike shrugged and looked away. “That's the difference between us. I'm not looking to cut my way to the top. I'm not willing to fire a shot toward another comrade and then lie about it for years at their expense.” Spike pointed at his synthetic eye noting the hard flinch. “Now shut up and behave for … nine and a half hours.”

 

***

Cold, stiff, Spike exhaled slowly and opened his eyes staring at the dim reddish blur. Gradually his eyes began to focus on the crumbling bricks. He lifted his head and hissed. It burned!

 

Reaching up he discovered something in the side of his neck. He pulled it loose and stared at the tranquilizer dart blankly. His sluggish thoughts fought to put everything together. Levering himself up off the floor, he groaned as his body protested, flecks of stone falling off his cloths where he had been lying on his side. The world swirled around him. Lines of bricks twisting and contorting. He had no choice but to shut both eyes in an attempt to settle things … before his stomach revolted.

 

Gasping, he drew his knees beneath his shivering body and just breathed the stale air for several minutes. _What the hell happened?_ Slowly, he opened his eyes and dared to look round. His gun lay in the middle of the floor amidst of a pile of fresh brick dust. He looked up at the wall and his blood ran cold. Letters, gouged into the wall by a katana.

 

_**Sorry I missed your birthday.** _

 

It all slammed back into him.

 

Vicious! The safe house!

 

Spike attempted to rise. The combination of the sedative and his exhaustion dashed him to the floor. Desperately, he clawed his way up the bricks and edged out of the small hidden room into a basement of an abandoned bar. He staggered as fast as he could up the stairs, tucking the gun in the holster lest he trip and fire it off.

 

The safe house was only a few blocks away. How long had it been? His phone wasn't in his pocket. He had no way of knowing what time it was. Only that dawn had not yet come.

 

Arriving at the house, Spike's hopes crashed the moment he laid eyes on it. What windows weren't smashed were dripping with red. The bodies of countless members of Basilisk's team lay hacked to pieces, bleeding out all over the place. Desperately, Spike wandered the house searching for hope that Vicious had failed—for everything in this house had fallen to a katana.

 

In a room guarded by corpses, Spike stumbled to his knees. The capo lay bled out from hundreds of small slashes. Paralyzed by the sight, he stared at the blood soaked rank braid.

 

“Vicious … what have you done!”

 

A noise outside the window slammed him out of the stupor. Spike shot to his feet and scrambled down the stairs. He found the street deserted. But it wasn't enough. If anyone found this … they would know Vicious's handy work was all over this. Seizing one of the high powered guns lying on the porch, Spike dashed around the side of the house. Still shaking, he stood a fair distance away and fired of a shot.

 

“Shit!” It buried into the siding.

 

He tried again, to the same result, sweat dripping down his forehead. Taking a deep breath, he held the gun with both hands and squeezed off three shots.

 

Two struck the gas main. One pierced it, the second sparked on the metal. BAWOOM! The house went up in a blaze, knocking Spike on his side. He threw the gun into the fire and ran, eyes so wide with terror that they caught the firelight and reflected it even over his shoulder.

 

From the shadows, two men watched. Wolffe waited until all that moved was the flickering of the burning house. “I thought you were insane when you told me to let him take you, Sir. But … but … how did you know?”

 

Vicious smiled, his teeth gleaming orange in the firelight. “Now, we let the Van discover this and ask the Hellhound about the blaze.”

 

“Damn.” Wolffe whispered. “He just fell on his sword. Ehhh, in a manner of speaking.”

 

“He did indeed.”

 

“What could he have possibly done to deserve this?”

 

“He lived.” Vicious started to walk away. “It has been a busy day. I must prepare myself for the ceremony.”

 


	14. Session 14

**SESSION 14**

 

“Spike?” Julia waved a hand in front of his eyes. He continued to stare into space from the end of the bed. Haunted. She grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled hard. “Talk to me! What happened?”

 

Her pleas fell on deaf ears. Spike's stupor remained unbroken.

 

Falling forward into his chest she held him tight.

 

His voice was nothing more than a harsh rasp when he spoke. “He killed me … Julia … I walked right into it … never saw it coming … oh God, it's only a matter of time.”

 

Julia leaned back, her hand remained on his shoulder. Beneath it, Spike shivered even though his skin was warm, almost feverish. “It can't be that bad.”

 

His eyes searched for her. The moment they focused, tears welled in the corner. He shut his eyes and bowed his head. “He murdered them all, Basilisk and all his company. I thought I had stopped him but … ”

 

When he shook his head, she spied the red rimmed puncture on his neck surrounded by a faint bruise. “Spike, what happened?”

 

“I failed!” He dropped his head into his hands. “I panicked. I covered it up … the fire … it may burn it … but Julia … it's one of my signature MO's! What if they figure it out? I'll be lucky if they choose to let me die quickly!”

 

She placed a finger on his lip. “Shhh. This isn't helping. Slow down. They know you wouldn't do this. They know you.”

 

Spike shuddered. “It won't matter. A capo is dead and because of Vicious it looks like I was behind it.”

 

“There's no reason for you to be, Spike. What would you have been aiming for?”

 

Vicious's words echoed in his head. Spike stared at the floor turning it around. Would he remain a subordinate forever? The only way to advance was for a capo to die and open up the position. Mao … Spike shut his eyes. No. That was a price he never wanted to pay. And yet without it, this was where he would stay. Trapped and wallowing in between, bathed in blood. He stared at his hands and balled them into fists, suddenly sick of the beast he had become.

 

“Baby, you're exhausted.” Julia broke him from the downward spiral. “Lie down and just let this go for now. Wait for the call before you worry. Mao, the Van, they know you. You aren't driven to power like Vicious.” She traced the side of his neck with a finger. “You settle for the simple pleasures. That's why I love you so much. You're real, not living in some dream of grandeur.”

 

Spike's haunted eyes were already closing as she unbuttoned his grimy shirt and pulled if off. Gently, she tucked him into the bed. He didn't resist. She climbed under the covers behind him and draped her arm over him. He was still shaking as she whispered, “I have your back. Just let it go for now. We'll stare down that target together if it comes. Close your eyes and breathe. Just breathe with me.”

 

Gradually, Spike's breathing slowed. But the tension never drained.

 

Hours later, Julia leaned over and picked up his phone. She nudged him awake. Spike opened his eyes painfully slow. She showed him, “What does this mean?”

 

He stared at a coded message on the screen. His eyes shut tight again. “A promotion ceremony. They'll be announcing the next capo this afternoon. Oh God … they know … I have to go.”

 

“You have a few hours. Go back to sleep. Get your wits about you.” She brushed his cheek. “I'll wake you up in time. Just trust that everything will be alright.”

 

He sighed. “And prepared that it won't.”

***

Spike stood with his head bowed in the ceremonial chamber. The Van had not revealed their presence up on the platform. The officer's braid on his jacket mocked him as he stared at it dreading that this might be among his last moments. Mao was in a serious discussion across the room with several other capos. The room was packed solid with every leader in the area and his immediate subordinates.

 

Eyes kept glancing his way, and every moment Spike felt an accusing glare only to realize they were probably reacting more to how poorly he looked. Paler than usual, with dark circles under his eyes, they must have been wondering if he had sampled some bad Purple Eye, or was ill. Spike pretended to sniffle. Let them think the latter. It would explain a lot.

 

A flash of white caught the corner of his eye. He glanced up to see Vicious standing with his chest out, the light caught the golden braid across his jacket. Spit and polished, he drifted his gaze around the room until it fell on Spike. Then, Vicious lifted his chin.

 

Spike tensed. There was mischief in his eyes. What was he up to? Watching the slow movement of his once partner, Spike edged closer. Vicious's jacket rode odd on his hip. Almost as though—his heart rammed in his chest.

 

The katana! No arms were allowed in the Van's presence, except those of their guard!

 

Spike launched across the room and furiously tore the blade out from beneath the coat.

 

In a mock surprise, Vicious danced back from him. In the crowded room heads just started to turn as Spike screamed, “Traitor!” And threw the katana like a spear straight at Vicious.

 

The mockery faded as the blade penetrated his shoulder.

 

Dug down in a crouch, Spike meant to follow through with a punishing assault. Five of the Van's guards descended mercilessly catching Spike as he spun in a failed attack. He came down hard, twisted on his right shoulder. His left arm under him, held firmly behind his back by the wrist. A knee to the center of this back and enough pressure to crush him. Kicking and thrashing he snarled, “You don't know what he's done! Release me!”

 

A gun pressed against his neck, Spike felt each beat if his heart against the muzzle. He surged against it with a wordless growl.

 

The gun pressed harder, painful against his tight muscles.

 

He forced himself to stop, panting for breath.

 

Standing back, Vicious carefully staunched the wound and threw Spike a pitying look … followed by a sly smile.

 

Spike lost it! Bucking and thrashing, he almost tore free. But the men redoubled their efforts. The gun rammed into his neck so hard it left a bruise. “Move again and I pull the trigger! I don't give a shit who you think you are. No one brings weapons into this chamber!”

 

“I didn't!” Spike fought to remain still. “It was him, damn it! Him! You're making a mistake!”

 

“I'm not the one on the floor.” The guard rebuked.

 

Vicious held his shoulder. “I have no idea what's gotten into him, trying to sneak my weapon in here. I plainly left it outside.”

 

“Liar!” Spike's teeth clenched.

 

“Besides,” Vicious went on. “If there are no weapons allowed in this chamber we have a problem. By his own words, Spike is _never_ unarmed. Thus he should never be permitted before the Van without being bound!”

 

“How dare you!”

 

“ENOUGH!” All eyes snapped to the front of the room, except Spike's. Still pressed to the floor he could only glare at Vicious. “What is the meaning of this?”

 

The guard with the gun against Spike called out, “Sneaking weapons into the room. This one attacked another officer. To the Chamber?”

 

A long silence followed. “Let him up. His transgression will be dealt with on another day.”

 

The gun eased back. Spike jerked to get up. The gun rammed back. “Slowly!” Glaring over his shoulder, Spike rationed his motions with excruciating slowness. All eyes watch him as he stood up, marking who he was, glancing at who he struck. Spike's coat hung awkward off his frame with a baleful glare thrown at Vicious. All he received was an increase in that teasing smile.

 

“We said that's enough!” The Van declared. “This is a sacred ceremony of the passing of the guard. These antics are beneath officers of rank.”

 

Mao ghosted over and slipped between the two of them. He glanced up at Spike, panic in his eyes. Spike looked away, staring out at a spot on the wall ahead. He tried to appear at attention, but in the corner of his eye he could not escape Vicious's presence. In fact he swore that Vicious moved closer to him on purpose. Much of the ceremony passed by in a preoccupied blur.

 

The spell broke when Vicious's head snapped up in unbridled shock. Spike turned to look around, uncertain of where they were in the ceremony. Then his eyes caught another man approaching the Van and bowing before them.

 

He looked back to find Vicious broiling, his hand in a fist. _So_ _ **that**_ _was his goal! Cut a new position for himself! All those men had to die for your failed scheme? Asshole!_

 

Vicious rolled a heated gaze at Spike. A gaze that was returned ten-fold. The only thing keeping Spike from charging him was Mao's hand on his chest. “Spike,” he whispered, “I beg of you, not now!”

 

After the ceremony ended, Spike retrieved his gun and stormed down the stairs. Mao hastened after him. “Spike! Come back … ”

 

But the pleas did nothing. He pushed his way out of the building before he chanced an encounter with Vicious. Out on the streets he launched into a blind run. Anywhere but there! His thoughts rolled into a turbulent storm.

 

At last, weary and lost, Spike sank down against a stony surface not caring where it was. Staring at his hands he muttered hopelessly. “He made a fool of me. After that display … any moment now the Van will call for my blood. They may have already. There may be a shot aimed right now. Julia … I'm so sorry. So very sorry! There's no way I can get out of this alive.”

 

His eyes drifted up. Grooves in stone met his gaze. Words, names and dates. It dawned on him, he was in the graveyard, leaning against someone's stone. He bowed his head and sighed. “Shit, I'm sorry. You guys are supposed to be resting in peace and here I am pissing about my life. Pathetic. Heh, guess I'll be joining you soon. It's my only way out of this mess.”

 

He somberly stared at the rows of the stone. Slowly, his brow creased. He sat up a bit straighter.

 

His phone vibrated. He grabbed it out and looked to find an official job. The final bits of his plan clicked into place. Nearly tripping over his feet, Spike tore down the hilly yard and raced back toward the apartment. He didn't have much time.

 


	15. Session 15

**SESSION 15**

 

Spike rummaged through boxes he had brought some time ago to Julia's apartment. Methodically he selected the components and synced the detonator. It could have been just like any other job, but this time the target was decidedly different. Slipping the gear into his trench coat pocket he pondered the routes along the lake shore. For everything to work he had to time this just right, and even more so than usual.

 

His phone vibrated. “Yeah?”

 

Shin replied, _“Well, this guy thinks he's pretty slick. Barricaded inside a warehouse. Looks like a great chance for a fireworks display.”_

 

“I expected as much. Keep tabs on him for me. I'll meet you down by the warehouse docks in a few. Just finishing prepping.” As he hung up, the front door to the apartment opened.

 

Spike walked over to the doorway, lingering in the half-light.

 

Julia almost sprinted, but the doleful expression on his face halted her, the detonator still in his hand. She stood in the center of the room, paralyzed.

 

He slipped the device into his pocket. “When this is all over, I'm leaving the syndicate.”

 

Julia held her breath for a moment, fighting to suppress the fear before she dared to speak. “They'll kill you. You know how they work.”

 

He smiled ever so slightly. “Heh. Let them say I'm dead.” Entering the room, he came before her, looking down even as she couldn't meet his determined gaze. “I'll be waiting at the graveyard. By the graves, not in one.”

 

“Oh Spike,” her uncle's dire warning drove into her. If Spike went through with his unspoken plan, everything would be over. Everything thrown away. She did the only thing she could think of, hoping he would come to his senses. “I can't come with you.”

 

Spike held out a slip of paper. “Yes you can. We'll leave and get out of this place.”

 

Her heart sank at the finality in his voice. “ And go where? … Do what?”

 

“Live.” He smiled wearily. “Be free. It will be like watching a dream.”

 

When she didn't take it, he set it in the counter and turned. Julia grasped the sleeve of his coat and held him at bay. A breath away from a sob she choked out, “Baby … come home.” She forced her Ruger into his hand.

 

Spike embraced her, closing his eyes as he sank into her hair. “Don't be late.” His fingers lingered in contact with her skin until the last moment.

 

She followed him to the doorway, watching as his shadow slipped away down the staircase. Morosely she turned to walk back into her apartment. Another shadow caught her attention behind her. She tried to turn, and shouted, “Spike!” But there was no reply. 

 

Vicious snatched her wrist and forced her back into the apartment, a Colt Commander aimed at her heart. He pressed her toward the window where his cold eyes watched Spike's retreating figure. “So. You were going to betray me? Did you really think you could just leave.”

 

Julia pleaded. “Vicious.” But he placed the gun to the back of her head. She froze, trembling at the pressure.

 

Vicious flicked his gaze to a photo of Spike and Julia kissing at the Bullseye Bar. “Keep dreaming, Julia. It's never going to happen.”

 

She dared to turn her head and look up into his intense gaze. The heartless man watched her with a viper's curiosity. “Are you going to kill him?”

 

“I won't.” A slow smile spread as he placed the gun on the table beside the music box statue. “You're going to do it for me. Either you kill him, or else both of you die. Those are your only options.”

 

Her jaw trembled. The resolute light in his eye promised. “Why … ?”

 

Vicious grabbed the music box and smashed it to the floor. He bent down and picked up the music cylinder and cracked it open, pulling out a transmitter. “Because, I needed that weakling out of the way. And I have you to thank for the means to do that.” He grasped a handful of her curls and roughly pulled her into a kiss.

 

Julia struggled, but couldn't break free until he released her and threw her against the table. When she looked up he was already leaving. Somehow, Julia had kept the paper concealed in her hand. The time … the time to meet him. She shut her eyes, tore the page into a hundred pieces and let them flutter out the window into the rain.

 


	16. Session 16

**SESSION 16**

 

Spike lit a cigarette as he walked along the dock. A light rain started to fall misting the lake. Lin and Shin waited for him behind a stack of crates watching a building stretched out on piers above the water. Casually he leaned against the crates and eyeballed the windows and doors. Most had been welded shut with plates. There was only one obvious entry. “So, is our lab rat in there alone?”

 

“Nope.” Lin stood up with a grunt. “Keith's got seven friends with him. They've got some pretty heavy artillery in there.”

 

Shin heaved a sigh. “You never should have left that trespassing dealer alive.”

 

With a smirk, Spike murmured, “If he would have been a good little boy and stayed out of Tharsis we wouldn't be here. But at least he picked a better location. With eight in there it gives me an opportunity. I haven't shot pool in a while.”

 

The two moved to Spike's shoulder as he stepped out onto the docks. “Wait here in case some of his buddies poke their heads through the hole. I got this.”

 

Lin scowled and grumbled to Shin. “Peh. We get to play whack-a-mole, again.”

 

Spike's footsteps echoed along the dock. He glanced down at the water, the ripples catching the light off his cigarette and shredding it. In the dark, swirling waters in the nearly setting sun he looked like a feral dog scavenging for prey. In truth, that's all he was. And the collar chafed him.

 

Approaching the warehouse he had one advantage. The glare of the sunset shown directly in their only entrance, a heavy door where recent scuff marks gouged the deck. They might see him coming. But he would see any who happened to be trying to line up a shot. The whole place was still.

 

With a quick motion hidden as he discarded and smudged out his cigarette, Spike set a special C-4 charge low on the wall of the building. Just like wedging the old pool table. He grinned. Same old game. Pulling out the Jericho he flicked the safety off. Different cue.

 

He tore the door open to the flash of shock on a handful of men's faces. They scrambled.

 

Spike fired off a single shot and nailed one in the back of the neck as he tried to climb over the card table. “One, side pocket.”

 

Pulling out the Ruger, he grinned. As the shuffling of panic ensued, Spike entered leading with the guns pointed off in different directions. A second man popped his head up struggling with a gun jam, his eyes popped wide. Spike squeezed off a round with the Ruger. The man dropped like a rock. “Two, corner pocket.”

 

The warehouse became the table. The targets shifted around, but Spike's ballistic cue took them out of play. Drifting through the crates and boxes, he mercilessly chased the decreasing force, letting them lead him back into a corner toward a barricaded door. The last two thought they were safe.

 

Spike ricocheted a bullet off a catwalk. It struck the target through the eye when he looked up. “Six.”

 

The last man leapt up and squeezed the trigger of his gun, kicking him off his feet. A short burst of automatic fire peppered off to Spike's left.

 

Leveling the gun, Spike shot at a rack holding a fuel tank above the man's head. It fell, nozzle down. The gunman screamed and rolled to the side. The tank missed, but the nozzle struck solid floor. The valve released as it shattered, a fine mist ignited to the spark. “Seven … And now,” Spike's eyes stared at the solid door. “The eight ball.”

 

Trading the Ruger for a grenade, he pulled the pin, lobbed it at the door and ducked behind a column. The blast rocked the building, the backside of column was peppered in shrapnel.

 

Inside the room he found the dealer Keith, holding his head. Dozens of cuts bled on his face. Spike seized him by the collar. The moment Keith looked up his color drained. “Ahhh!”

 

Spike slammed the muzzle of the Jericho into his chest. “Shut up! You've been a load of trouble to me bringing this shit back here. I know you've been dealing with Vicious. And now, you're going to pay dearly for that.”

 

“I … I didn't mean … ”

 

“I said shut up! I don't want to hear it! Now move!” He pushed Keith out the door and lobbed another grenade into the room where it landed in the middle of his equipment. 

 

“NO!”

 

Spike dragged him along even as he tried to escape. “You have something you have to do before you can die.”

 

Wordlessly, Keith wailed as Spike dragged him toward the door.

 

Spike tucked the Jericho into his pocket. His fingers grasped the detonator. No going back. “Let's make this sporting.”

 

Keith looked over his shoulders as Spike released his hold and shoved him forward. Seeing that Spike was now unarmed, he couldn't believe his eyes. In a scramble he darted for the door, clearing it. Spike narrowed his eyes. “One … two … three.”

 

He plunged forward as if in hot pursuit. “ four … five … ”

 

The gunshots fired from the crate blind echoed. Spike's phone clattered across the dock as he threw it behind. “… six … seven … ”

 

Spike drew in a deep breath. “Eight!” He hit the button.

 

The blast tore the side of the building and the front of dock dropping it out in a tremendous fireball. Spike tumbled like a rag doll out over the water. Below him the dark waters blossoming into a brilliant red a split second before he impacted.

 


	17. Session 17

**SESSION 17**

 

Sputtering and coughing, Spike dragged himself up the side of the wharf. It had been a long cold swim mostly underwater to be sure he left no wake. Catching his breath, he gazed at the distant flames eating away at the warehouse. Two shadows cut dark silhouettes against the blaze.

 

“I'm sorry I couldn't say farewell.” He sighed. Climbing to his feet he looked up into the pouring rain. “So much for drying off. Just hope corpses don't catch cold.”

 

Sodden, Spike put his hands in his pockets and walked through the back streets making his way to the graveyard. Approaching the rise of the hill he quickened his steps. It had worked. Lin and Shin had witnessed his 'death'. For the first time in his life Spike realized he answered to no one! His life was entirely his own … to share. In less than an hour he would take Julia up in the _Swordfish_ out of this place. The cockpit would be tight, but they would be together with no ties binding them to anyone. No calls. No more fear … just a normal life!

 

He passed through the rows of gravestones. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Ducking into his coat he waited up on the hill where he could see when she came. The wrought iron gate squealed on the hinges as the wind played with it.

 

Like a statue he remained for a quarter of an hour. A half hour turned to forty-five minutes, he leaned against one of the stones. Spike's eyes searched the rain-shot darkness. Slowly, as the full hour passed, he sank down to the ground, a cigarette too soaked to light hanging from his mouth. His hands cradled her Ruger, staring with haunted eyes.

 

_Where is she?_ _She said she would come, didn't she?_

 

Another fifteen minutes dragged by, with Spike remaining motionless. Lightning tore the sky, chased by thunder. His half-lidded eyes gazed at the gun in his hands.

 

_She's … not … coming._

 

They closed. Rain cascaded off his bowed head. Alone. Without her … the dream faded into a dreary haze. For a moment, he picked up the gun and stared down the barrel. But his shivering finger refused to pull the trigger. Dragging himself to his feet, he glanced one more time down the hill before trudging off through the graves. His shoulders sagged as far they could go.

 

High on the hill a man wove through the gravestones unseen. He slipped behind a mausoleum, coming up beside Vicious.

 

“Sir.” Wolffe kept his voice down. “I followed her, as you asked. She came this direction an hour and a half ago, but turned off from here after standing at the gate. I tailed her thinking she would go back to her apartment. No. She ran northwest, winding through alleys. I lost her near a bridge. Not sure what you want me to do.”

 

Vicious's eyes followed Spike's figure staggering along the path.

 

Wolffe pulled out his gun. But Vicious held up a hand. His subordinate protested, “Sir. No one can leave the syndicate alive.”

 

“He's not.” Vicious smiled.

 

Confused, Wolffe shrugged knowing better than to question. “Well, if he is gone then that leaves the Van little choice in promoting you.”

 

“Indeed,” replied Vicious. “Now, thank you for your excellent service.”

 

Wolffe holstered his gun. “You welACCCK!”

 

Vicious's blade cut through his throat. The subordinate slumped down against the wall leaving a blood streak. “A dead tongue cannot be made to whisper things it should not have known.”

***

_Numb. Like ice penetrated my every cell and stilled my pulse to within one beat from the ultimate end. How long has it been since the graveyard, alone, in the rain? Why? When she had looked at me, there, in her eyes blazed the commitment. I know that's what I saw … wasn't it? She'd pleaded with me, like every other time. The same words … **Baby, come home.** … A commitment so deep only one thing would have prevented her from waiting for me … a lie …_

 

Spike's chin rested on his bare forearm, his wrinkled leisure suit's sleeves rolled back haphazardly. Through half-closed eyes he stared idly at his glass on the bar, containing a splash of whiskey, neat. One finger flicked the side of the glass. Ripples shattered the light to dance across the amber fluid. He closed his left eye and watched the strange refraction recorded by his right. Nothing ever lined up. Always a strange variance in color, clarity, light. Trust one or the other … but did either ever tell him the truth? He'd never be certain.

 

He sighed as the ripples rebounded off the sides of the glass. The turbulent waves canceled one another into calmness. Yup. So little effort to set it back into motion. He flicked the glass again and watched the center rise up in a pillar and slam down, like a bullet fired into a target. The report of a gun filled his memory. Spike's body tensed against the ghost of the pain.

 

When he opened his eyes the alcohol continued its dance to heavy footsteps. The stool beside him slid back and a burly man flopped down and tapped the bar with his artificial left fingers. A cybernetic arm, from the shoulder down.

 

“Yo.” The man called out to the barkeep. “Give me your strongest. Been a long flight from Ganymede.”

 

_Ganymede to Mars? Even by the gates that's quite a trip._

 

The barkeep and the stranger conversed without Spike paying any attention until the keep threw him a hard glare. “That way when your account is dry I won't be serving a drink you can't pay for.”

 

_ What? I didn't ask you to drain my account of every last woolong. I only neglected to keep track of how much I had left when I sat down. Sheesh.  _ Spike shifted his gaze from the glass before him. The man beside him barely spared a glance his way. What the heck did this guy think he was wearing? He looked like some oddball, accident-prone mechanic. What was with the scar over his eye and that metal plate? More than anything, Spike noted the authority behind his motions. A controlled drive pummeled into a man through years of service of some kind. Spike's instincts buzzed hot, even as he maintained his lazy veneer. I.S.S.P. There was little doubt. He didn't need to see a man in uniform to recognize the threat. 

 

_ Threat? What threat? This guy looks like a steady jog would end his ticker. I got more important shit to think about. Like what the hell city did I land in? Why was I stupid enough to blow all I had in dive bars these last … what … two weeks? Where the heck am I going to stay tonight without any woolongs left?  _ He closed his eyes and tried to quiet his thoughts to no avail. This whole plan had gone completely ass backwards on him in a single flash of lightning. 

 

The slap of Jet's hand on the counter snapped open Spike's eyes. “Hey, you from around here?”

 

Spike rolled his head, no.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're gonna carry that weight …  
> BANG!
> 
> Well, it's been fun filling in the backstory and connecting the dots, writing a vibrant Spike before he was shattered. This story actually comes to the beginning of the first Cowboy Bebop fanfiction I wrote, “Tharsis Threnody”, which is on here as well. I hope this was entertaining.


End file.
